


Poison Fruit

by Tibbins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s13e15 A Most Holy Man, Hell Trauma, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Psychological Torture, Self-Destructive Dean, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Struggling Dean Winchester, Torture, Worried Castiel, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-16 20:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 78,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Continuation of 13x15. Cas returns from Syria with the fruit for the spell and Team Free Will pick up a lead on the Seal of Solomon, but Dean's old ghosts are returning from the grave and they aren't the kind you can fix with a salt and burn. Some dark themes. Destiel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> It has been FOREVER since I posted anything so I'm really sorry for that. I had some major technical difficulties and lost 5000 words of this thing so I had to re-write it from scratch and I'm still not completely happy with it so if I can get my laptop fixed and retrieve the original then I'm gonna come back to this and re-vamp it to my liking. 
> 
> I'm sorry if it's not as polished; I swear, at least some of it was phrased so much better the first time I wrote it, I just can't remember how and it's been really annoying but I really wanted to post something, I figured it would give me the motivation to figure out where it's going, so here it is. 
> 
> All opinions and feedback welcome, I love hearing from you guys. 
> 
> Also... SCOOBYNATURAL!!! AMIRIGHT? It was freaking amazing!
> 
> This is a continuation of 13x15 (A Most Holy Man)
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

It was coming to the end of a really long and really weird week, even for Dean. So when Cas called to tell him he was at the airport, Dean grabbed Baby's keys and called out to Sam, who was still hunched over his laptop, where he'd been for hours, chasing leads on the Seal of Solomon.

"You coming?"

Sam shook his head, eyes still glued to the screen. "I'll see if I can find a lead for him to come home to." He said, "You go, it'll take you two hours to get there."

 

***

 

Dean made it in an hour and twenty minutes. He pulled Baby into the short stay lot and jumped out, searching the crowds for a flash of beige. There. Dean elbowed his way through and there stood Cas, looking irritable, his hair stuck up messily from the long plane ride, but his face split into a tired smile when he saw Dean heading his way. Dean laughed and reached out to clap the angel on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a quick hug. It had been a  _very_  long week.

"How was it?" he asked, taking the handle of Cas' suitcase; full of clothes he didn't need and a bunch of nonsensical papers and a laptop that didn't work, at the Winchesters' insistence that he would attract less attention if it looked like he was on a business trip.

"Eventful." Cas sighed, allowing Dean to roll the case behind them as he led them out of the airport. "I'm glad to be back."

"It's good to have you here, buddy." Dean said. Unsure why exactly he was bothering to drag the case along, except that leaving it unattended in an airport would only cause a panic and attention that they really didn't need. He threw the thing unceremoniously into the back seat and got in, using some of his excess energy to drum on the wheel while Cas gingerly lowered himself into the leather and sighed.

"How was the flight?"

"Please don't call it that." Cas said. "It's an insult to flying."

Dean chuckled, turning the key in the ignition. "Not a fan?"

"Decidedly not."

Dean pulled out of the lot and got back onto the main road headed home. He wasn't speeding. The roads were busy at this time of day and it's not like he was in a rush. He glanced over at Cas.

"That bad, huh? I get it, man. I hate those sardine cans too."

Cas sighed and shook his head. "No, it was fine. Just… loud. And time consuming."

"Fair enough." Dean said. "So, did you get the fruit?"

Cas pulled out what looked like a wad of toilet roll from the inside pocket of his trenchcoat. Dean let out a whoop and Cas smiled.

"Nice. Two of the four. We're halfway there as Bon Jovi says."

"That's actually a very common saying, Dean. Bon Jovi didn't coin the term."

Dean rolled his eyes. Then eyed the roll of tissue. "Why'd you mummify it?" He asked.

"The man next to me kept elbowing me," Cas grimaced, "I thought it best to cushion it. I had to ask the hostess for extra napkins."

Dean snorted at the image of a very confused hostess watching a deadpan Cas stuffing wads of napkins into his pocket.

"Why didn't you just switch pockets?"

"You're not allowed fruit on planes." Cas said seriously.

Dean smirked, "Right. Like we didn't pay for your ticket with a stolen credit card?"

Cas glared at him.

"I don't want to have to go back there." He huffed, "I've spent the past fortnight tracking the tree down, breaking the warding so I could actually get near the thing, researching rituals for the proper way to pluck a fruit without it losing its potency and smuggling it out of the country; all the while avoiding the other angels in the area, probably all that remain of the guard that was stationed there; forgive me for not wanting all that work to get confiscated."

"Angel guards? For a tree?"

"It's a place of holy significance, Dean." Cas said as though that should have been obvious. "Many places like that are – or  _were_  – protected. The warding was recent though, probably left before the last of the guards abandoned their post after the Fall. Angels were never meant to be barred from such things." He sounded sad as he said it.

"You did good, Cas." Dean said, "we're halfway to getting Mom and Jack back so I'd say we're doing pretty well."

"Halfway?" Cas frowned.

"We got the blood." Dean explained. "It's been a pretty crazy week, man." Then he launched into the story of chicanery and insanity that had been that last case. He grew more animated as he talked. Sometimes taking both hands off the wheel to gesture dramatically. He felt himself cheering up, despite the weirdness he was spouting. It was good to talk about this, it was good just to talk to Cas about something that wasn't going to end in a worry-fuelled yelling match. They hadn't really talked since Donatello. Dean had been too angry and Cas had seized on the excuse of getting the fruit to allow them both time to cool off.

"So, they were all double crossing each other?" Cas asked as Dean finished with a flourish. He sounded as dumbfounded as Dean had been. It had just been too sitcom, too bad old movie, too bizarre to be real.

"Yeah." Dean said. "I mean, they were all assholes so I get it but still. You'd think going back on your word would go against the mob boss' code at least."

"Mob bosses have codes?"

"Apparently not."

"Well," Cas said, turning his head back to the road ahead, "at least your week wasn't boring."

"Oh please, I'd  _kill_  for a boring week. In fact, isn't that part of the plan?"

"That's not funny, Dean."

"Shut up, yes it is."

Cas just rolled his eyes.

"So we're one step closer to completing the spell-"

"-which means we're one step closer to another showdown with Lucifer." Dean finished, shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat. He knew that there was a reason Sam had chosen the Seal as their next point of focus, and it wasn't because they had a better chance at finding it first. Dean hadn't pushed, he wasn't exactly hyped up about going after the Devil either, even powered down. "And we'll go after him  _together_ , Cas."

"He has to be stopped, Dean!  _Before_ he regains his power."

"I don't disagree." Dean said, throwing up his hands for a second before resting them back on the wheel, turning right at the next junction. "But we're gonna need a proper plan. You can't go running off on your own on this one, please." His voice came out less firm than he would have liked it. "Last two times you've been around him haven't exactly gone well for you."

Cas grumbled but didn't argue the point.

"I just don't want us to end up in a position where we have to kill him before we can get his grace." Dean reasoned. "He's the only chance we've got."

Cas sighed, long and heavy. "Yes, I suppose he is." He fell quiet then, and when Dean glanced over, the angel's eyes were far away.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, I just… It's easy to forget sometimes that I used to live by the hierarchy of Heaven. God, then the archangels and their chosen, then the Grigori before they rebelled, then the leaders of the garrisons, their lieutenants, the seraphim, then the soldiers and the Rit Zein and finally the cherubs. It was order and it made everything so simple. I knew who I was and what I had to do. I just… I miss being a part of that sometimes. I had no concerns beyond my next mission and protecting the garrison. I miss that clarity."

"Nostalgia's a bitch, huh?"

Cas snorted softly in agreement. "I might not have been a seraph then but I had a good position in Anna's garrison and I had no room for doubt. I knew my place and I was content with that and I never expected anything to change. It was that way for millennia."

"And then you met me."

Cas glanced over at him with a warm look. "And then I met you." He repeated. "I wouldn't go back, Dean. I rebelled because it was the right thing to do; there was corruption and hunger for power in creatures that should be beyond such things; I wanted to stop that, I just never thought that I could shatter it so completely. Now there is one remaining archangel and he stands against the rest. The hosts of Heaven have been largely wiped out and those remaining have lost their wings and have separated themselves into their own factions, each with their own goals and leaders. Who knows if the garrisons mean  _anything_  anymore? The order that I fought to protect my whole life has dissolved into chaos largely because of  _my_  actions." Cas paused, a strange, pained expression on his face, "I don't regret it, not entirely. I just wish I had been able to find a better way."

"Hey," Dean said sternly, "you did what you could with what you knew, and it's not your fault their whole system was rigged to collapse. If they hadn't been torture-happy assholes then you'd have had no reason to go and bring it all down, right?"

"I suppose." Cas said, clearly unconvinced.

Dean knew that nothing he could say would move Cas when he was stuck in a guilt trip like this, so he settled for changing the subject.

"So what does that thing do exactly?" He asked, gesturing at the padded fruit in Cas' hand.

Cas considered the pile of napkins in his palm, tilting his head as he did so.

"It grants life." Cas said simply, "cell regeneration, healing, a longer lifespan; any number of things."

"Handy." Dean said approvingly, thinking how useful something like that would be on the battlefield.

Cas' eyes flashed to him, stern as though he knew what Dean was thinking. "It is  _not_ to be used outside of the spell," he said, "this fruit is dangerous, Dean, its usefulness may depend on the quantity ingested and how it's prepared. Who knows what an excess could do? Eternal life, reanimating the dead... power like that has to come from somewhere. What if it takes life in order to create it? To heal a wound, what if it takes a memory, or time from the end of your lifespan? It isn't something to use lightly, or even at all." He lowered his hand slowly, holding the fruit in his lap, his expression tense and worried. "I would like to study it before we use it in the spell, I would much rather have  _some_  idea of the consequences before we invoke them."

"I dunno, man," Dean hedged, "spells can be pretty finicky, one pinch of salt less and you end up with buttercream rather than a seance. Can you do your tests and stuff without it losing its power?"

"I'm not sure," Cas said, pulling out another bunch of napkins from his other inside pocket, his face splitting into an almost mischievous grin, "which is why I brought a spare."

Dean stared at the second lump of wadded tissue in Cas' palm for a few seconds longer than he should have, considering he was driving, then he threw his head back with a roar of laughter. He had to actually pull over he was so overcome. He laughed for a solid four minutes until he was gasping, his eyes streaming. Cas had been bewildered at his outburst, but when it became clear that Dean was not going to stop anytime soon, he heard the angel begin to laugh too, though his mirth seemed to stem more from Dean's reaction than anything else. Dean wasn't even sure why he found the thing so funny. It was a perfectly practical move, bringing one fruit for experiments and the other to actually use, but something about the dramatic reveal, the way that Cas had pulled fruit from his pockets like an amateur magician just struck something in him that he found indescribably hilarious.

"Woo," he said eventually, sitting back with a final, stuttering chuckle, wiping his eyes with a corner of his plaid, "that was funny." His stomach ached from the laughing fit, but it was a good kind of ache.

"Apparently." Cas deadpanned, eyes twinkling.

"Don't." Dean said, holding up a warning finger, "you'll set me off again." He exhaled long and slow, "man, I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

"I'm glad I still have the capability." Cas said, still looking slightly bewildered, "and at least this time it didn't involve a prostitute."

Dean snorted and glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye, their gaze swapped memories of a night at a 'den of iniquity', wide, terrified eyes and getting tossed out by security. Looking back, he knew he'd been a dick to tease Cas so mercilessly but really, the look on his face had been priceless.

"We've come a long way since then, huh?"

"Yes, we have."

They shared a look, full, as their looks so often were, of memories and lingering regret.

"Nostalgia's a bitch." Dean repeated, then he cleared his throat and changed the subject, "So, what are you gonna do to this thing?" He asked, plucking the wad of napkins out of Cas' hand and inspecting it; it was warm but not the expected, gross kind of warm of a mushy fruit being sandwiched under a guy's armpit for fourteen hours. Through a gap in the paper, Dean spotted a faint lilac glow. He switched hands to re-start Baby's engine and felt a strange pulse go through his palm. He tossed the fruit back to Cas who stored it, and the other, back inside his trenchcoat. Spinning the wheel to ease Baby back out onto the road, Dean glanced over at the angel who looked far more relaxed than he had done a few minutes ago.

"I'm not really sure yet." Cas admitted, "I'm hoping that Sam will be able to help. Honestly, I don't know much more about it than you do. Angels aren't scientists, we aren't particularly curious creatures. A group were sent to guard the tree and they did their duty, but they didn't think to study it so we never learned more about the properties this fruit could possess. I really wouldn't know where to start."

"Yeah, Sammy's the one you need for that stuff," Dean said, "the big nerd."

Cas scoffed and then sighed, "Even if it turns out that using this fruit is a bad idea, we're going to do it anyway, aren't we?"

"Probably." Dean said, shrugging, "we've gotta get our family back."

"Even if it costs us our lives?"

"It won't come to that."

"It might."

"It's what we've gotta do, Cas." Dean said, "if nothing else, we need Jack, right? Assuming other Michael won't be a problem, Jack's the only thing that even made Asmodeus hesitate and we both know that we can't win against Lucifer when he's powered up. Jack's the only one who's got a chance."

Cas frowned. "That's a lot of pressure to put on a child."

"Yeah, well... it's a hard life."

Cas pressed his lips together and said nothing. Dean let the silence sit for a few minutes, then he reached over and switched on the radio, he flicked through the stations half-heartedly before admitting defeat and turning it back off again with a sigh.

"Cas," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think there's a way to take out all monsters? Like all the evil in the world just... poof?"

Dean saw Cas turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. "A noble pursuit. Why do you ask?"

"Just something Sam said. He said that we keep just reacting to the trouble in front of us but never actually make a difference." That almost off-hand comment had been bugging Dean a lot lately. He wasn't really sure what he thought about the idea of a monster-free world.

"He said that?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Cas was quiet for a moment, considering.

"Jack showed me a world like that." He said eventually. "I have to believe that he can help bring it about."

"Right."

"Isn't that what we've been fighting for since the beginning? A world without all the bad?"

Dean gnawed at his lip. Cas was right, a world without bad had been his goal, it was why he stuck with hunting, because he was doing good, because he was helping people, if there was a way to end all the cases, get rid of all the ghosts and ghouls and wendigos and vampires and demons, if there was a way to save all the people that would otherwise become corpses because of some big, bad, scary thing, shouldn't he be jumping at the chance? Why did the thought turn his insides to razor wire?

_Because what would become of you in a world like that?_

He swallowed hard, taking the turn onto the dirt road that led to the bunker and slowing Baby to a crawl.

"Depends on how you define 'bad', I guess. The world doesn't split into human and monsters anymore. You can't tell me that someone like Garth should get wiped off the planet. You can't tell me that someone like Ketch deserves to stay."

"Dean, no one's asking you to choose." Cas said slowly.

"I know, I'm just saying.  _No one_  can choose, hell, even Chuck's biased. Ideas like that are usually too good to be true. I don't trust in the idea of a perfect world."

"I suppose it would depend on what we find." Cas sounded confused. "Is this something that Sam is actively pursuing?"

Dean let out a huff of breath, "not exactly."

"Well maybe we should revisit the idea when we get Jack back." Cas reasoned. "I'm not saying it wouldn't be difficult but the end result... Dean, it was beautiful. I would love for you to see it." He trailed off, eyes distant, a soft smile on his face.

"Sounds good." Dean said, yanking on the handbrake and switching off the ignition, pocketing the keys. It  _would_  be good, it was the right thing. It was what every hunter dreamed of, to rid the world of all things creepy, bitey and monster-y. He wasn't sure why this was getting to him so much. What did it say about him that his every pore was objecting so strongly that he felt sick? He was just tired probably. It had been a very long and very strange week and he was still reeling from the unnecessity of half of what had happened.

He opened the door and swung his legs out, standing to stretch until his back cracked. Opposite him, Cas got out too and waited patiently for Dean to round the bumper of the impala before leading the way to the bunker door.

 

***

 

"Cas!" Sam greeted cheerfully, standing up from the table when they walked in. "Good to have you home."

"Thanks, Sam." Cas said, embracing the younger Winchester when he got to the bottom of the stairs. Dean smiled at the two of them, leaning on the bannister. It didn't take them long to start in on an in-depth discussion of the experiments to be done on the spare fruit. Dean rolled his eyes affectionately and edged around them, leaving them to their nerd talk. He could use a few quiet hours to sort his head out.

 _Good luck with that_.

Dean sighed as he grabbed his laptop and started it up. He hated when he was like this. He hated when Alastair's voice whispered to him from the shadows of his mind, echoing his own doubts in searing clarity. He should never have brought up the whole perfect world thing to Cas, it had been a passing remark on Sam's part, the desperate wish of a tired man. It didn't mean that there was a way, it wasn't actually  _possible_.

_What if it is? Castiel certainly thinks so._

Cas was  _wrong_. A utopian planet? Please. Even without monsters, humans made plenty of bad on their own. They screwed up the environment, politics, charity without even trying. There'd never be true peace, people just weren't built for it.

_People like you maybe._

Dean rubbed a hand through his hair as he typed a command into Google. Maybe that was it, maybe his objection was born of pure selfishness. A perfect world wouldn't need him. Without monsters, who would need protection? Who would need saving if there was never anything wrong? He didn't have anything to offer a place like that. He knew how to kill, he knew how to torture, he knew more about lore and afterlives and legends than he really wanted to but none of that would mean anything in a place like the one Cas was talking about. Without hunting Dean was nothing.

_Nothing but a broken man with a mind full of nightmares._

What would the others do? He wondered. Sammy might go back to law school or, if no one needed lawyers, maybe he'd teach. Dean could picture that suddenly, so vividly it was almost a vision, a hallucination. Sam in a sweater-vest, standing at the front of a class of twenty enraptured eight-year-olds, patiently answering questions, stoking their curiosity, practically oozing enthusiasm for the subject he was teaching.

Mary would find someplace quiet to settle down, somewhere Sam could easily visit, but not with too many people around. He saw it then, Mary reclining on a deck chair at the edge of a lake, a crate of beer beside her, fishing. She'd probably work in a garage, fixing antique cars, attentive and careful to each one that came through her shop. She looked so content as she sipped her beer, oil on her overalls, a warmth in her eyes that had been absent since she came back from the dead.

And Cas? He'd probably travel the world he'd fought so hard to save, inspect every detail in wonder. Another scene flashed before him, Cas stood in a forest in the middle of a storm, without his trenchcoat. The air crackled with electricity and Cas tipped his head back and laughed with pure joy, a laugh that Dean wasn't sure he'd ever heard before, free and happy and beautiful. Not a trace of the guilt or pain that the Cas he knew carried around with him. Cas tipped his head back and closed his eyes, the rain hitting his skin, his shirt clinging to his body in the downpour. Cas inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, which flashed with angelic power and a bolt of lightning struck the ground feet from them. Dean flinched but Cas just smiled wider, lost in the power and the moment, water dripping down his neck and through his hair. Happier than Dean had ever seen him, wilder than Dean had ever thought him to be.

The vision faded and Dean was hit by a sudden, painful pulse of longing. They should be able to have those lives, all of them. They all deserved that happiness. So why wouldn't he fight for it?

 _Because for them to be happy, they'd need to leave._  Alastair crooned.  _And you just can't let that happen, can you?_

Dean shook himself, breathing hard. What was  _wrong_  with him? His brain was a mess. What had happened to laughing over Cas holding a napkin-wrapped fruit in each hand? Instead he chose to drag down the mood of having Cas back by working himself up over Sam's daydream. It was stupid, a thing that he didn't have to worry about. They had more immediate problems to focus on. They still had to save Mary and Jack, which meant two ingredients left. Dean threw himself into searching for the Seal, trying to blot out those visions, delusions, whatever, trying to focus. He managed maybe half an hour or so of actual research, scanning through documents and lore, probably nothing that Sam hadn't already discounted but his brain was too fried to concentrate. With a frustrated sigh he closed the laptop again and stood to place it back on his desk.

 _Worthless._  Alastair hissed at him, _You can't even get one decent lead. Tell me, Dean, what use are you? Sam and Castiel are the ones trying to get the ingredients for the spell. Do you care so little about your own mother?_

He just needed to sleep, he told himself. The three-and-a-half-hour round trip to get Cas following on from one of the most bizarre cases they'd ever worked and followed  _by_  a conversation that had jerked him from one extreme to the other had clearly overtaxed his mind. Dean kicked off his boots, socks, jeans and shirt and grabbed a pair of soft, grey sweatpants and an over-large t-shirt to sleep in. Maybe if he actually got into the bed instead of just passing out on top of it he might even manage to keep it dreamless. Even if he didn't, at least it would shut Alastair up. If he could just give his mind a bit of a reboot.

 _You_ do _know that I'm dead, don't you, Dean? Everything I say comes directly from you, and the one thing you've never been able to run from is yourself._  The oily voice had taken on an even more irritating sing-song quality that made Dean want to tear his hair out.

Instead of getting into the bed, he knelt next to the nightstand and opened it, pulling out a bottle. Empty. Great. He set it on the nightstand.

 _That wouldn't work anyway._ Alastair told him, like he didn't already know.  _There isn't enough alcohol in the world to separate me from you._

"You're dead." Dean hissed, half trying to convince himself.

_And yet you know you'll never be rid of me. I'm alive as long as you're alive. I'd say I won in the end, wouldn't you?_

"You're not real."

_What does that say about you, Dean? You're too weak to move on, too broken to try. You like the world the way it is so that you can pretend that you have a place in it. Newsflash, you don't._

Dean pressed his knuckles into his eyes. The voice was persistent tonight, normally it just made a snide comment or two and left him alone. He could live with that. This would end, he just had to get through it.

_Getting through things isn't exactly your strong suit, Dean. You have a tendency to break, remember?_

He did. He would never forget; the pain, the blood, the defeat, the shame, it was like a brand that marred his very soul.

_I wonder how long it'll take this time._

"Shut up."

_You just can't let go, can you? You're so desperate to keep them around that you can't see you're choking them._

"I said SHUT UP!" Dean yelled, snatching up the bottle and hurling it at the wall where it smashed, scattering glass.

"Dammit."

He crossed the room and grabbed a towel from the bathroom door before kneeling next to the mess, gathering together the largest shards and picking the smaller pieces out of the carpet.

_Everything around you breaks eventually._

Dean's ran a hand through his hair and tightened his fist, yanking at the short strands. It hurt, good. Pain helped him focus. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes as his hand clenched in his hair. Alastair was right. He  _was_  weak. He was the weakest of all of them. Sam didn't talk to the voices in his head, Cas didn't throw bottles around, Mary didn't clutch at her hair like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

_You'll break them too, Dean, you know you will. It's already begun. Mary's trapped in that world because you wouldn't let her leave like she wanted to, Sam's losing his faith and you can't come through for him and do you really think that Castiel would have had to have compromised himself if you had just been able to get the prophet to talk. I taught you how, Dean. Have you forgotten?_

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was like a jolt of adrenaline to his heart, he opened his eyes like he'd just been blinking, carded his hand through his hair as though he'd just been midway through the gesture when Sam walked in. He turned to look up at his brother with an easy smile.

"Hey Sam, what's up?"

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"Nothin'," Dean said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, "I just dropped a bottle."

"I heard yelling." Sam's eyes cast around the room as though looking for more damage.

Dean did his best to look offended, "Yelling? Sammy, that was the finest rendition of AC/DC, it's not my fault you don't appreciate my voice."

Sam scoffed, "Right."

_He knows you're lying._

"Are you drunk? You don't sound drunk."

"No, Sam, it was already empty."

"Dean, I've been listening to you singing since I developed ears, I know what it sounds like."

_You should lie better._

"Whatever, man. There's no mystery here."

"Don't do this, Dean. We're so close to getting them back, to getting our family back. Please. You can't fall apart again."

"Who's falling apart?"

_He is._

Dean hesitated at that.

 _Look at him, he's_ worried _about you._

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's and he saw the concern, the fear. Sam didn't need this, not after everything he'd been going through lately. Losing Mary and Jack had hit him harder than he'd let on, harder than he'd been  _able_  to let on because he'd been too busy trying to pull Dean back from his own edge.  _Sam_  was the one who was struggling here. Dean had let his brother become his crutch and he was straining under the weight. Sam shouldn't be worrying about him, it was meant to be the other way around.

_Selfish._

"I need you with me on this." Sam said, his face open and vulnerable, the hope that used to shine from his every pore had dimmed to dull, resolute determination, like he wasn't certain that they'd win, only that he had to try. He knew that expression from the mirror, it wasn't an expression that should be on his brother's face. When had that happened?

_You're destroying him._

"I'm with you, Sam." Dean said hoarsely, trying to make his tone as sarcastic as possible, as though his worry was misplaced, not needed. "You know you can't get rid of me."

_No matter how much he wants to._

"I thought you were getting better." The defeat was evident in Sam's voice and Dean was overcome by guilt.

 _Look at what you're doing to him._  Alastair whispered gleefully,  _Look how you keep disappointing him. You can't do this one thing right, can you? Not even to get your mother back, not even to make your brother happy._

"Dean-"

_He's not even surprised. He expected you to be useless._

And then Sam was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide and worried.

"Dean, let go."

_You have to let him go, Dean. You have to let them all go or you're going to break them too._

"The glass, Dean, let it go."

Sam's eyes were on the hand at his side. Dean looked down, confused. His fist had tightened around a shard like the hilt of a knife, blood leaked between his fingers. He stared at it and slowly opened his hand, letting the bloodied glass fall.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, snatching his hand to inspect the cut.

Dean allowed his brother to pull him to his feet and guide him over to the bathroom sink. His head felt like it was stuffed with cloth, his thoughts were sluggish, his hand didn't even hurt. It was like that with glass; you didn't notice it was killing you until you were already dead.

_Now that sounds familiar._

Sam washed the blood from his hand, the cut wasn't too bad. It wasn't even that deep so instead of stitches, Sam just wrapped it in a bandage from the first aid kit. As Sam tightened the knot, Dean shook himself, forcing away the fog that was clouding his mind.

"It's just been a long, crazy week." Dean said, pulling his hand out of Sam's. "And it was a long drive to the airport. I'm just tired, Sam, that's all."

"Yeah, I'm not buying that."

"Well that's all it is."

"Dean, you just shred your hand open and you didn't even notice."

"Like I said, tired."

Sam pressed a hand to his own forehead and let out a long-suffering sigh. Dean hated that he was doing this to him. He knew that being cagey was only making things worse.

 _Of course, because he'd be_ less _worried if he knew you were hearing voices._

Dean made to go back to cleaning up the glass but Sam stopped him, pushing him over to the bed instead.

"No, if you're so tired you can go to sleep. I've got this."

"Sam, I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up a broken bottle."

"Then you can vacuum the rest of it in the morning." Sam said firmly, loading glass onto the towel. Dean sat on the bed, sulking, holding his bandaged hand in his lap.

"You don't need to baby me, Sam. It's just been a weird day."

"Right. Going to pick Cas up from the airport was crazy."

Dean rolled his eyes at the mocking tone.

After a few moments of silence except for the small plinks of glass hitting glass on the towel, Sam sighed.

"We've had a good week, Dean. Sure, it was a bit... bizarre, but it's not like it was that bad. We got the blood for the spell and managed to return a priceless relic to where it belongs, we've done worse things. Plus, Cas is back with the fruit so whatever this is-" Sam gestured to where Dean sat, "I don't know where it's coming from."

Dean said nothing. He wasn't being rational, he knew. He just couldn't get those images out of his head; Sam as a teacher, Mary fishing, Cas laughing in a storm. Instead of that being true, Mary was stuck in Apocalypse World and Sam and Cas were both here, miserable, held back by the chains he put on them, by the bond he insisted was more important than anything, by him. Sam just wanted to get Mary back, Cas just wanted to get Jack and Dean had been dragging his feet every step of the way.

"I hate when you get like this." Sam muttered, "I hate it when you push me away."

"Get out of my space and I won't have to."

Anger flashed across Sam's face.

"Fine." He snapped, gathering the glass-filled towel into a bundle and standing. "You wanna be alone? That's just fine. Forgive me for caring about you."

_Oh, poor Sam. Doesn't he know that that's the one thing you can never forgive him for?_

Dean hated himself as he watched Sam leave, pointedly taking the towel with him rather than dumping it in the trash can by the door. He knew that Sam was gonna go straight to Cas, tell him all about how Dean was losing it. Which gave him maybe an hour before Cas came to have his own talk.

Dean switched off the light and climbed into bed, lying on his back, staring at the stationary ceiling fan above him. He knew what he was doing to them, making them worry because he couldn't keep his own damn crap together. He was supposed to be stronger than this, wasn't he? But somehow he always ended up staring at the ceiling, Alastair whispering to him in the dark. Dean repressed a shudder.

What was  _wrong_  with him? Specifically, what had brought Alastair back in HD quality streaming directly into his brain? Sam was right, they were close to having everything. They had a plan, they had a spell, they had half the ingredients, they had Cas. By rights, Dean should be in the library, pulling an all-nighter to find a lead on the Seal, he should be just as gung-ho at the prospect of getting his mom back as Sam was. Instead, he was fixating on a passing remark about a perfect world that he knew he wouldn't belong in. He thought he'd stopped thinking about the future like that. He'd accepted his fate of a bloody end long ago; any hope Dean had had of a life outside of hunting had died when he was six years old and John had begun training him in earnest. No longer just a glorified babysitter while John learned the ins and outs of monster killing. The Dean Winchester of today hadn't been born, he'd been forged.

 _What part did I play in that, Dean?_ Alastair purred,  _Was I the fire or the hammer? I must say, I like both analogies._

"I thought you were all about breaking things, not making them." Dean muttered, fully aware that he was engaging with a delusion but too damn drained to care.

 _No, that's_ you _. I only broke you so that I could make something new from the pieces. You're mine, Dean. You'll always be mine. No matter how your story ends, your soul will always come back to me._

"No." His voice was half a whimper and he was ashamed of himself for it.

 _Yes_. Alastair hissed _, you always were my favourite toy and I don't let go of what's mine, I learned that from you. Billie did say she'd throw you into the Empty. I'll be waiting, Dean._

A soft knock on the door made Dean jump. He didn't answer, he knew it was Cas. He rolled onto his side, facing away from the door, pulling the covers up, almost over his head to hide the shaking. That was an old idea, one that hadn't truly haunted him in years, the idea that after everything, when he was finally dead for keeps he'd just end up right back in Alastair's hands.

The door opened a crack, spilling a sliver of light into the darkened room.

"Dean?"

Dean stayed silent, forcing his breathing into an even rhythm. He heard Cas sigh.

"I know you're awake."

Damn angel senses.

"Sam told me what happened."

Of course he did.

"I told him about our conversation in the impala, how you seemed... anxious at the idea he posed. I'm sorry if I broke some kind of code."

Dean rolled his closed eyes. Cas sighed again and took two steps forward.

"He's worried about you."

Yeah, that was kind of the problem.

"He's angry too." Cas informed him, "It's hard to be understanding when you don't understand."

"Go away, Cas."

"As you wish." The angel seemed to retreat, then paused. "Dean, may I? Your hand."

"It's fine."

"Please?"

Dean grunted and shrugged, which was difficult to when lying on one of your shoulders. It made no difference to him if his hand had a gash in it or not. Dean heard Cas approach and squeezed his eyes tighter. Holding in the flinch that he knew would come when Cas reached for his forehead. Cas seemed to sense his tension because he hesitated, and the touch he was waiting for never came.

Dean cracked his eyes open to see the shadow of the angel hovering over him, tall, taller than it should be given the angle of the light, and two skeletal wings thrown into relief around him. Dean scrambled to turn over, an unexpected panic in his veins. Cas recoiled, withdrawing his hand, clearly startled at Dean's sudden movement. Dean's eyes raked the place where those wings should be. Where they  _had_ been in the shadow, the wings that haunted his sleep, stained as ashes on the earth by a cabin in the middle of nowhere. The wings that had changed so much since the ones he had seen in that barn, magnificent, powerful, divine. Dean had had plenty of time to mull those thoughts over when Cas had been dead, plenty of time to feel the guilt of causing that decline, each feather lost, each step further into his fall was on Dean. It was a wonder he stayed.

 _Maybe he stays because his wings are clipped_  Alastair snarked.

Dean shook himself. Cas still stood there, arm half reaching towards him, as though unsure how to proceed. The wings weren't there, of course, not that he could see anyway, not even their shadows stretched behind him. Another hallucination. He hoped they weren't going to become a regular thing.

"What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, "Nothin'," he said, "nothin', I just... I opened my eyes at the wrong time and saw your shadow. Hunter's instincts." He ended with an unconvincing laugh.

Cas' eyes narrowed in that squint he got when he was concerned. "Do you still want me to..." he gestured.

Dean pulled his bandaged hand from under the covers and thrust it at the angel, grateful for the distraction. "Mojo me."

Cas' lips twitched into a fleeting smile and took Dean's hand, carefully picking at the knot of the bandage with a focused expression.

Dean shifted, slightly uncomfortable. He'd been expecting a touch.

"Do you have to do that?" He asked.

"No," the angel replied calmly. "I can stop if you like."

Dean just huffed. He didn't really  _mind_ , it was just weird.

Cas pulled the bandage away and Dean winced where it tugged at the dried blood, starting to scab.

Cas looked at the wound the way a doctor might, face impassive. Then he sighed.

"I don't like seeing you in pain."

"It doesn't hurt much." Dean said truthfully.

Cas covered Dean's palm with his own and Dean felt a gentle trickle of warm power, like static. He remembered the sight of Cas in the rain, so joyful to be at one with the nature he loved and he pulled his hand back, sliding it out from between Cas' and glancing at the now unblemished skin.

Cas let it go easily, though his eyes met Dean's.

"That's not what I meant."

Dean scoffed.

"I would like to watch over you tonight." Cas said, "If that's alright with you."

Dean hesitated for a split second, but the words were already out of his mouth, an automatic response.

"No, dude, that's creepy."

"Very well." Cas turned and headed back for the door. "If you need anything, pray to me."

'Pray to me.' It was strangely intimate phrasing, Dean thought, not 'call me' or 'let me know' or even 'I'm here for you', but 'pray to me'. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that.

 _Maybe you should take him up on his offer,_ Alastair suggested slyly.  _Pray to him, go on. Tell him how you feel. Tell him how pathetic you are, tell him how you're so terrified of the future that you're willing to do almost anything to make sure that you don't have one._

"That's not true _"_ Dean snapped.

 _Isn't it?_  Alastair's voice was slick.  _The way I see it, Dean, and therefore, the way_ you _see it, is that you have a choice. You can fight for your happy ending or you can fight for theirs. You know as well as I do that those two things don't mix. Because_ your _happy ending involves them while theirs don't involve you. You've seen it, you've felt it. You know it's true._

Dean cursed Alastair. He cursed him right up until the second unconsciousness claimed him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> So here's the next chapter. I want to thank you guys so much for your reviews and favourites and follows, they really mean the world to me.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

He woke a little after five. He wasn't sure how many hours he'd actually gotten but he felt a little better, even if he did have a headache. He flung back the covers and got out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom, stepping over the place where the broken bottle had been. No matter how meticulous Sam had been, until he hoovered he wasn't going to walk on that spot with bare feet. Dean kicked off his clothes and, after emptying his bladder, stepped into the shower. He melted into the steam, allowing the heat to soak into him, loosening his muscles, the hot water running through his scalp. He pushed a hand through his hair and lathered up with some shampoo. Today, he could use a thorough clean, he was going to enjoy this shower dammit, and then he was going to help the others track down the Seal of Solomon and  _then_... Well, he'd think about the 'then' when he got to it but he should probably apologise to Sam at some point.

Dean rinsed his hair and squirted some shower gel onto a sponge. It was cheap stuff but he liked the way it smelled, it had sea salt or something in it.

A cold hand caressed his shoulder and Dean whirled around, dropping the sponge, his heart rate spiking. There was no one there, of course. Dean pressed himself back under the hot spray although he couldn't quite bring himself to close his eyes; he let the water run into them, blinking quickly, that should wake him up. He was just still groggy from sleep, that was all. Then he jerked again as he felt fingers tracing over his hip, nails dragging slightly. Dean shut off the shower and stepped out quickly, taking a towel from the cupboard and wrapping it around his waist. Breathing hard in the steam, he wrenched open the bathroom door and let the cooler air hit him, filling his lungs with it. What the hell was that?

Dean dried himself off quickly and fought to get his breathing under control, adrenaline pulsing under his skin while he dressed, antsy and freaked. He headed to the kitchen, trying to look less like he was running away from something and more like he was just hungry. Cas was already there, of course. He greeted Dean with a smile and a nod in the direction of the coffee pot. Dean, however, decided that caffeine was probably a bad idea when he was already so wired and just headed straight to the cupboard and pulled out a bagel. He didn't even bother trying to make it into a sandwich or anything, he just took a huge bite and flopped down opposite Cas in what he hoped was a casual way.

"Are you feeling better?" The angel asked almost immediately. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I slept some." He said by way of a reply.

Judging by the way Cas pressed his lips together, that was not the answer he wanted.

"Not enough." Cas said. "It's been less than three hours."

"What? You been watching the clock?" Dean joked.

Cas said nothing.

"Seriously? You timed how much sleep I got?"

"The human sleep cycle is an indicator of health." Cas said in his monotone 'I'm billions of years old and very smart' voice.

"You know what else is an indicator of human health? If you ask them."

"I did." Cas said, "you lied to me."

_Lie better._

Dean couldn't help the slight flinch as Alastair's voice slid across his ear, he could  _feel_  the hot breath against his neck. No. It wasn't real. He wasn't there, he was dead; forever dead. Cas leaned forward, squinting at him.

"You often lie about your well-being, Dean. Are you surprised I stated a fact?"

Dean took another huge bite of the bagel to avoid answering and nearly choked, an old fear was kindling, an old fear he'd thought he'd never have to feel again, at least not when he was awake.

Dean thumped himself on the chest, coughing. Cas frowned at him from across the table and Dean felt himself going red.

"Stop staring at me." He grumbled when he could breathe again.

"You look anxious."

"Yeah, 'cause you keep staring at me." Dean said, casually scratching at the spot on his shoulder that still felt cold. Cas' eyes tracked his movement. "Dude, seriously?"

Cas sighed and looked away.

"You're freaking out over nothing." Dean told him as he forced his hand away from his shoulder, flexing his fingers under the table. "What have you been doing for the last three hours anyway?" He asked, by way of changing the topic.

"I've been waiting for you and Sam to wake up." Cas said, giving Dean a pointed look that said he knew exactly what Dean was doing. "I was researching and may have found a lead on the Seal."

"Awesome," Dean said, standing, "well, I'm glad you stuck around to tell us instead of just disappearing. That's good, shows growth or something."

"Of course." Cas cleared his throat awkwardly

Dean peered at the angel, suddenly suspicious. Cas avoided his eyes. Then it clicked and Dean half wanted to punch him.

"You were waiting around in case I prayed to you, weren't you?"

Cas met his glare with one of his own, an expression that expressed no regret or even shame, which Dean thought was unfair because his own face was burning.

"I told both you and Sam that I was fine."

"And exactly no one believed you." Cas retorted. "Why are you angry about this? You  _just_  said you were glad I stayed."

"Because the reason you don't run headfirst into suicide missions shouldn't be so you can fetch me a glass of freaking water in the middle of the goddamn night!" Dean's voice was steadily rising in volume, he knew he was overdoing it but he couldn't help himself, it felt so  _good_  to fight.

"You'd never pray to me for something so trivial." Cas said dismissively. "I knew if you were to come to me, it would be important."

"More important than getting Mom and Jack back?" Dean shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. "More important than saving the goddamn world?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" Cas shot back, "because you didn't come to me, you  _never_  come to me. You hoard your secrets as though they don't affect us, as though we don't know any better. Personally, I find that incredibly insulting."

"Oh, so are you gonna tell Jack and Mary that the reason you left them there to be tortured for another few hours is because your feelings were hurt I wouldn't spill my guts?"

"If I  _had_  left, what precisely do you expect me to have done? I can't fly, Dean. I can't just pop around to check things out anymore. At most, I'd be driving and you'd call me and you'd be pissed that I'd left without you and made me turn back. So which outcome wastes the most time?"

"Right, I forgot you're barely an angel at all anymore."

Cas' face turned thunderous and Dean almost backed up a step as Cas advanced, he was out of his seat in a blink, staring him down. Dean met his eyes, refusing to give; he was pushing too hard, he knew, forcing an argument when all Cas had been trying to do was be there for him. And Dean couldn't be angry because waiting for backup  _was_  what he wanted Cas to do, so regardless of the reason behind it, he should be damn grateful.

 _Plus, isn't it so sweet that he cares?_  Alastair crooned, causing Dean to flinch back unintentionally. Cas stopped short, some of his anger dimming.

"Stop pushing me away, Dean." He said, "I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help." Dean said testily, watching as Cas' jaw clenched again.

 _But you would like it, wouldn't you, Dean? You_ want _him to fix you. Have you made your choice yet?"_

"I'm gonna go grab Sam." Dean said, skirting around the angel. "You can fill us in on what you found."

"So, you do need my help after all." Cas said flatly.

"On cases." Dean clarified, half-turning so he didn't have to look at the angel's face, "for the big stuff."

In his periphery, Dean watched, almost in slow motion, as Cas took a step backwards, as though Dean had screamed at him, or thrown something, when the reality was much, much worse. Dean left to go wake his brother. He knew that Cas would stay until they got Jack back and for now, that was something he could hang on to but Dean  _had_  made his choice. Cas deserved to laugh in a storm, and that meant he needed to cut his ties to Dean.

 

_***_

 

Dean woke his brother and waited in the hallway while he showered and dressed, knowing full well that Cas would still be in the kitchen and the thought of being alone with him again was  _not_  one that appealed. Eventually Sam emerged, looking far too peppy for half past five on a Saturday morning; even so, he made a beeline for the coffee machine and then asked Cas to explain what was going on.

"It might not be a direct lead." Cas began, "but Asmodeus is mentioned repeatedly in the legend of Solomon. It's said that he had possession of the Seal and used it to rule in Solomon's stead for forty years. Some of the legends say that eventually he threw the seal into the sea."

"Great, I'll go get the submarine." Dean quipped.

Cas glared at him, the kind of glare that told Dean he really shouldn't be talking right now, he shut up, but not before Sam shot both of them a questioning look, which they ignored.

"When I was imprisoned by him, I heard him refer to himself as a 'collector'." Cas continued as though Dean hadn't spoken, "I find it unlikely that he would throw away such a powerful object. I suspect that it's still in his possession, or at least, he keeps track of where it is in case he ever needs to find it again."

Sam leaned forward, fingertips together, "How do we find out which?" he asked, "we can't exactly just  _ask_  him."

"I was thinking more... breaking and entering." Cas said with a small smile, "before Asmodeus took over Hell he was living somewhere, if he collects things, important trophies that might be useful to him, the Seal is probably there, or at least some information on where it is. If we can get in and out without raising the alarm, he might not know the Seal is missing until we've already used it."

"And you know where this place is?" Sam's eyes flickered with hope.

Cas nodded, "Colorado."

"Seriously?" Dean blurted out. Cas didn't even look at him, his eyes on Sam.

A grin slowly grew on the younger Winchester's face.

"Is it guarded?" he asked.

"I don't know," Cas admitted, "probably. I don't think he's the kind of creature to leave things to chance, but if we scope the place out first and come up with a plan..."

"It's worth a shot," Sam said, standing.

"Great," Dean said. "I'll grab the bags. Sam, you and Cas load up the impala, every demon-killing thing we've got, best throw in a few hex bags too, and whatever else you think we might need, okay?"

Cas bristled at the order but followed Sam in the direction of the armoury willingly enough.

 _That wasn't enough to lose him, Dean,_  Alastair warned,  _You know he'll forgive you sooner or later._

"I know." Dean said staring after his younger brother and best friend, "but at this point, I'm not sure there's anything they won't forgive me for."

_There's one thing._

Dean huffed and detoured through Sam's room where he grabbed the duffel bag from the back of the wardrobe before arriving at his own. He pulled his duffel out from under the bed and tossed a few extra shirts and socks in, he often packed too light. After a moment's hesitation, he strode over to the desk and yanked out one of the drawers; opening the false bottom, he pulled out the bottle inside and wrapped it in a shirt, making sure it was well cushioned before adding it to his bag and lugging the two duffels outside to the impala.

Dean dumped the bags next to the car while Sam and Cas arranged the weapons. Sam seemed to have been a little overprepared and was trying to shove an extra shotgun in.

"Dude, we can't carry more than one shotgun each," Dean pointed out, "as long as we've got the salt rounds, we're good."

"Right," Sam said with a laugh, "right."

"Here, I've got it." Cas said, taking the gun and a few other things that either wouldn't fit or were unlikely to be of any use and heading back inside.

Dean surveyed his brother, his eyes were glazed over.

"Hey," Dean said, nudging him gently with his elbow and handed him the duffel bags, "what's wrong?"

Sam closed the trunk and rested his hands on it a moment before straightening up.

"Are we ready for this?" He asked, turning to Dean. "I mean... I wasn't expecting to have to worry about Asmodeus until  _after_  we got Jack back. The colt's busted... we've got nothing else against him."

"He's not gonna be there," Dean said reasonably, "he's too busy ruling Hell, remember. Most we're gonna come across are a few low-level demons on patrol duty. We got this."

"And then what?" Sam looked over at him, fear barely concealed in those sea-grey eyes. Together they got into the impala and Dean waited until they were both comfortable before he answered.

"Then, we face down Lucifer again."

Sam nodded miserably. "Exactly."

"And we'll beat him." Dean continued in a firm voice. "We'll figure it out and we'll win."

"How?"

"That's a problem for another day, Sammy." Dean said, spotting Cas in the rear-view mirror, now empty handed. "Let's focus on getting ingredient number three for now, okay?"

"Right." Sam said, adjusting his seat slightly as Cas opened the car door and slid into the seat behind him. "We got this."

 

_***_

 

It was a long drive. The first hour was spent in awkward silence until Dean couldn't stand it and pushed a tape into the deck. The music wasn't loud but it was comforting and familiar, surrounded by the smell of leather and polish, Dean almost found himself relaxing. At least until Sam perked up a bit and tried to make conversation, seeming to have made the decision to be excited at the progress rather than morose at what that meant in the long run. He also seemed to have forgotten his anger at Dean over the previous night, for which Dean was grateful, but when he tried to draw Cas in the angel's stony silence was enough to burst even Sam's bubble.

"What the hell's going on with you two?" Sam asked, exasperated after his fourth failed attempt to add a bit of levity to the atmosphere. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"No." Dean said at exactly the same time that Cas said "Yes."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, a fight. Great. You two are fighting and we still have twelve hours to go. This is going to be a fun road trip."

"It doesn't have to be fun, Sam." Cas deadpanned, though there was venom in his voice, "I'm only here to work cases, isn't that right, Dean? So there's no point in wasting time on idle conversation."

"What?" Sam whipped his head around to look at the angel, and then at Dean, "you said that?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

"And you're not even going to apologise?" Sam's tone was incredulous.

"Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p'.

Sam gaped at him for a solid minute. Then he turned back to the angel, "He doesn't mean it."

"He can tell me that himself." Cas snapped.

Dean tightened his fists on the wheel and said nothing, hating the shake of Cas' voice. He had really hit below the belt with that one and he knew it. He knew how worried Cas already was about belonging to the team, how he sometimes doubted that he meant anything to either of them beyond his useful extra-human abilities. It wasn't true of course, not even a little, but if Cas wanted that perfect world he had to be able to let Dean go without feeling guilty about it.

 _It's never been difficult to make people hate you, Dean._ Alastair said,  _you don't even have to try most of the time._

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, "Of  _course_  we need you around Cas, but you're our friend too, you're family. We  _like_  having you around. Dean's just being a dick because... hell, I don't know, because it's cloudy?"

"Or because he's hiding whatever happened last night."

"You know I can hear you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you  _insulted_?" Cas growled, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Did my comment offend you? Did it imply that you can't be trusted? That you've wasted your time and your energy and sacrificed things that matter to you and changed irreversibly into something that you were once repulsed by, only to find out that the reason behind that change, the person who convinced you that you had a place here doesn't even care?"

"No, that's you." Dean said, forcing his voice to be steady.

"Dean!" Sam said, appalled.

Cas fumed, when Dean glanced at him in the rear-view the guy looked about ready to smite him. He couldn't blame him; he actually admired Cas' restraint, he definitely would have broken someone's nose by now, although he suspected that the fact that he was driving might have had something to do with him still having all of his limbs.

"What brought this on?" Sam twisted in his seat to look at Cas, clearly realising that he wasn't going to get any kind of coherent answer out of Dean.

"He's angry because I was worried about him last night and didn't leave the second I found out where Asmodeus had been living for the past few millennia."

"Seriously?" Sam turned back to his brother, who was gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. "You hate it when Cas goes off on his own."

"I hate it when he's not around to back us up." Dean corrected. "You're the one who geeks out with him over experiments on fruit."

"Me?" Sam said, " _I'm_  not the one who lost my goddamn mind when Cas-"

Dean silenced him with a look.

"What?" Cas demanded from the backseat.

Sam glared at Dean defiantly before answering.

"When you were dead..."

Dean turned his eyes back to the road, furious.

"Dean was not okay." Sam continued, "it hit him really hard. I mean, drinking more, sleeping less, yelling and punching things, lost faith and a freaking  _suicide attempt_  kind of hard."

Cas let out an exclamation while Dean clenched his jaw.

"Sure," he said scornfully, "not like I thought Mom was dead or anything, not like we had Lucifer's kid to look after, not like a salt and burn case took a crazy turn and I needed to visit limbo. Cas being dead was the only thing going on at that moment in time, grow the hell up, Sam."

"You know he cares about you," Sam said to Cas ignoring Dean completely, "he's just being a jerk."

"I don't need you to try and defend me."

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm sitting-"

"-Shotgun," Dean interrupted, "shuts his cakehole."

"So, what? Are we just gonna sit here in silence for the next twelve hours?"

"Unless it's about the plan, I don't wanna hear about it." Dean said. "Or if you need a bathroom break, you are  _not_  peeing on Baby's seats."

"And if I can't stand to be in the same place as you right now?" Cas said, voice biting.

"Then suck it up." Dean replied, "we're working on getting your kid back, you'll stick this out for him if nothing else. For him and Sam."

"Don't make me a part of this." Sam snapped, then he looked around at Cas, "I'm sorry."

" _You_ have nothing to apologise for, Sam." Cas said with a sigh. "But perhaps some silence would be a good idea."

Sitting in the driver's seat of a cramped car, Dean had never felt so far away from the two other people in it. Sam's disappointment and Cas' anger radiated from them like a physical wave. But Alastair was quiet, so he was probably on the right track. He felt like he was gearing up for something big, making preparations for something that hadn't even been decided yet. Dean had never really been one for the 'big picture', he preferred living in the moment, because a hunter's life was too unpredictable to assume he'd get a tomorrow. But pushing Cas away, hopefully towards Sam, felt like the first step towards that perfect world he didn't believe in. They'd be safer for it before all this was over; he had to believe that, otherwise the reality of pulling the rug from under his own feet, pushing away the only two people who had the tenacity to care about him even after everything he'd done would crush him. It felt premature, he wasn't ready. What if this compromised how they worked as a team?

_It's for the best._

Dean felt cold fingers trail down his neck and he shivered in revulsion. He hated that Alastair was right but then again, hadn't Alastair  _always_  been right? About Dean at least.

 _You're not one of them, Dean._  Alastair whispered, his voice raised the hair on his arms.  _You haven't been one of them for a very long time. Redemption isn't in the cards for creatures like us and the darkness is no place for them. It was always going to be this way. You were deluding yourself to think otherwise._

Dean thought that that was pretty ironic coming from a delusion but the words themselves struck home.

The next few hours were tense and uncomfortable. Sam kept sighing loudly as though he wanted to break the silence but kept thinking better of it. Cas didn't so much as breathe. Dean kept twitching as the long silences were punctuated by words from Alastair, or the feel of icy fingers on his spine. He wished his head would just leave him the hell alone. Hadn't he done enough for now? He hated knowing Cas well enough to see the hurt that his words had caused rather than the anger masking them and it's not like he could fault the guy for being pissed. He hoped he could keep this up almost the exact same amount as he hoped he couldn't. For that reason alone, he hoped that it wouldn't take more than a few weeks at most to get this whole utopia thing rolling. Having a goal in mind made it easier, but if it took too long he knew he'd start to second guess himself, and then how long would it take before he just called the whole thing off?

 _Not long._ Alastair confirmed,  _you might be stubborn but they are your weakness. Everyone knows it._

That was true enough. Maybe even if paradise on Earth turned out to be a long time coming, cutting ties was the right move. As much as he believed that they were stronger as a team than they were separated, he didn't necessarily have to be part of that team. How much crap had he dragged them through over the years because he'd been convinced it was the right thing? How often had he insisted on the course of action only to be shown that he'd been dead wrong? How often had he bulldozed over Sam or Cas trying to take point on missions because  _he_  thought he knew best, ignoring the fact that Cas had experience leading armies and Sam hadn't really needed his guidance in years? Too many. Somewhere along the way, he'd turned into his father and that thought made him feel sick.

 

_***_

 

He pulled over at a gas station about five hours in to fill up Baby and to grab some food. As soon as the car was parked, Cas was out of it, stalking away from the attached diner towards the small copse of trees behind it.

"Half an hour!" Dean called after him before turning his attention to the car. Sam leaned against the trunk, shaking out his legs and staring at him as he popped the gas cap and eased the nozzle in, keeping an eye on the price gauge.

"Don't say it, Sam." Dean warned.

Sam ignored him, of course.

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Cas was looking out for you and all of a sudden you're telling him that he doesn't belong here? That he's not even your  _friend_? I can't even imagine where this is coming from, you  _know_  that's complete bullshit. You were antsy when he went to Syria, you were a train wreck when he died and pulled a complete one-eighty when he came back and you talked on the phone to what we thought was him every day when Asmodeus had him. He's family."

"Yeah." Dean said, turning to look at his brother, "well, family feels like kind of an empty word to me. Family lost its meaning sometime around all the lying and the backstabbing and the - the secret deals and the talking over each other and the fighting. I mean, what do any of us talk about anymore? It's all apocalypse this and end of the world that and work and cases and monsters. We've stopped being a family, Sam. We're colleagues. We work together, we hunt together, we save the world together. I dunno, it all just kinda feels like..." He gestured with the gas nozzle and hung it back in its place, screwing the gas cap back on. Then he folded his arms and turned back to Sam, trying not to see his baby brother, the boy he used to go hungry to feed, the boy who used to crawl into his bed when he had nightmares, the boy who had always seemed to sense when Dean had been crying and would hug him, even if he didn't understand why. The boy who had stood up to John when Dean was too afraid to, the boy who had fought for what  _he_  wanted and gone to college and tried to leave this life behind him, the man who had struggled so much, lost the woman he loved, fought against his own destiny, chosen to go to the Cage. Dean looked at Sam and tried not to see the person he would give his life for without a thought. "Like obligation."

He watched as surprise turned to hurt and hurt turned to anger.

"Wow." Sam said after a moment. "So, saving Mom and Jack... that's just a chore for you? You don't actually care?"

"I think I'm past that." Dean said.

Sam let out a disbelieving laugh. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"Go to the diner, Sam. I'm gonna pay for this gas."

"Fine. But you know what? I'm not buying this crap. I don't know what's going on with you, but when you wanna tell me without being a dick about it, then I'm here, okay?"

"Whatever."

Sam threw his hands up in frustration and spun to head into the diner. Dean sighed and turned in the other direction, handing a few bills to the spotty youth on the till. He also got a packet of almonds for Sam because apparently he was too good for peanuts like a regular person.

_Buying him nuts? Really, Dean? Are you even trying to commit to this?_

"Shut up." Dean muttered, snatching the nuts and the change out of the startled teenager's hand.

"I didn't say anything." She said.

"Not you." Dean snapped, shoving the packet of almonds into his pocket. The teenager's eyebrows shot up into her hair. Apparently, she'd never met crazy before.

 _She should be grateful that Sam managed to find a band aid._ Alastair said,  _meeting the real you would not end well for her._

Dean could well believe it. He knew what he would have done as a demon. Maybe he would have been merciful and settled for scaring the kid with his eyes, but he found that unlikely. He had a sudden vision of the girl lying half over the plywood counter, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth open in a silent scream, organs exposed and scattered around the till, blood dripping lethargically into the tangle of her own hair.

Dean stumbled back, dropping the change, shaking his head violently. The kid stared at him. He spun and practically ran to the diner. He slid into the seat opposite Sam and tried to steady the painfully fast beat of his heart, tried to breathe past the tightness in his throat. Sam barely glanced up at him as he sat down, clearly still pissed off.

"I ordered you a steak," he said, "but we're  _not_  staying for dessert."

"What, you trying to punish me by withholding pie?" Dean scoffed. "That's weak, Sam."

"I don't care." Sam said sharply, "I can't watch you eat a goddamn pie right now like nothing's wrong."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I am so sick of this argument."

"Yeah? You and me both. Look, I don't know what crap you have floating around in your head right now and clearly you're not willing to share, but don't you  _dare_  take it out on me and Cas when we just want to help you. So push it down. Whatever the hell it is, can we at least get through this mission without you trying to bite our heads off? This is important and we need your head in the game, so get in the damn game."

Dean shrugged just as the waiter appeared with their food. They ate in silence and Dean felt the void between them growing. He wanted to reach out, bridge the gap, apologise and tell Sam that of  _course_ he cared, family  _wasn't_  an obligation to him, he loved them and he wanted Mom back and of course Cas was their friend and that meant more to him than just helping out on cases. But he couldn't, because Alastair was right. He wasn't like them. He'd done too much bad, made too many wrong calls, gotten too many good people killed and killed more than a few himself. So instead, he finished eating and excused himself to the bathroom where he splashed some water on his face.

 _Pull yourself together, Dean,_  Alastair chided,  _you can't fall apart yet._

Right. He had to get the Seal, he had to get Lucifer's grace, he had to make sure Mary and Jack got home safe, he had to find a way to rid the world of all evil and then he had to find a way to die trying to make it happen. Should all be done and dusted by next Thursday. He let out a short, harsh laugh, then left the diner. Sam was chatting with the waiter as he passed, always making friends, that kid. He decided he should wait next to the car for the others to finish up whatever they were doing, there were still ten minutes left before they had to leave and he had a feeling that Sam was going to milk every second of it, just to annoy him. He leaned against the driver door and watched through the window as Sam laughed at something the waiter said and accepted another coffee.

 _Look how easily he fits in with them._ Mused Alastair,  _that's the life he always wanted, isn't it? He fought so hard to be a normal human but you insisted on dragging him away from that. You just wanted your little brother by your side. And now he's just as scarred as you are and you kid yourself that this is a life he's chosen for himself. Like with Mary, wasn't your mother so much happier when she was dead?_

"Shut the hell up!" Dean said, smacking himself on the side of the head so hard it made his ears ring, Alastair only laughed, still just as clear.

 _But that was your fault too, wasn't it? And Castiel, he only fell in the first place to pull you away from me._ He chuckled darkly and a chill hand ghosted up his chest to land on his shoulder,  _little did he know, he never could._

Dean clutched his head, pressing his nails into his scalp. How could he fight this? He didn't know how to fight this. Alastair was a part of him, it wasn't something he could punch or salt and burn or shoot.

"Get out of my head." His voice cracked at the demand so it sounded like more of a plea. Alastair laughed again, that repulsive, bile-inducing laugh that hinted at something more, not the nasally voice of either of his vessels but the demon they housed, terrible and ruthless, a laugh that instilled fear and expectation into his very bones, it reverberated around in his mind and made him want to scream.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, dropping his hands, momentarily confused. Cas stood there, a few feet away, frowning at him.

"Are you alright?" The question was blunt and Cas' voice didn't betray actual concern. His eyes however were another matter. Dean blinked and swallowed hard. Nodding before he had even processed the question.

"I'm fine, Cas."

Cas sighed heavily. "I don't have the energy to argue so I'm just going to pretend that I believe you."

"Right." Dean said, still too shaken by the laugh that still tingled at the back of his brain to be an ass. "Yeah, that's pro-"

Dean cut off suddenly as Alastair's hand wrapped around his throat, not tightly, not constricting, but possessive and present. Dean froze, it was instinctual, muscle memory, he couldn't jerk away, his entire body just locked up, expectant, waiting, it knew what came next when Alastair touched him like that, even if Dean's brain had yet to catch up. The phantom fingers slid around to the back of his neck and Dean went completely boneless, he dropped to the ground and lay there, eyes snapping shut, brain switching off, preparing to endure. It took the soft, vile laugh in his mind to bring him back to himself. Cas was kneeling over him, voice panicked, hands searching for damage that didn't exist, not that he could fix anyway. Dean scrambled back into the side of the car, humiliated and angry with himself. He'd thought he'd lost that instinct, he'd tried so hard to make sure he never just checked out like that. What if that happened on the job? What if it got Sam killed?

_Wouldn't be the first time **.**_

Dean gaped at Cas, who's mouth was moving, asking him questions he couldn't hear, because nothing, _nothing_  could shake him more than that voice, not even Alastair, not even Sam.

 _You've only ever had one job, boy._  John Winchester said, brusque and unforgiving.  _Nothing else matters, you know that, I taught you that._

"Dad?"

_You think your own damn pain is an excuse? What have I told you, Dean?_

"Watch out for Sammy."

The skin that Dean had thought he'd built against the memory of his father was stripped away as though doused with burning acid. He was six years old again, a shotgun pressed into his clumsy hands; he was nine and John was glaring at him from over Sam's head, the Shtriga long gone; he was twelve and holding back tears while John roughly stitched up his arm, berating him on his tactics, he should have let the werewolf get closer, John would have had a better shot; he was fourteen and John had been gone on a hunt for nearly a month now and the money he had left them was running out, even with Dean's ration of one meal every two days, so he shoplifted himself a new pair of jeans and did what he had to do; he was sixteen and trembling as he straightened up, watching a pair of headlights slide into the parking lot in Flagstaff, he braced himself to tell his father that he had failed, that Sam had run away, that he couldn't find him, that he'd been out looking all night...

 _Daddy got a bit rough with you, did he?_  Alastair purred, smoothing a hand through his hair, Dean felt like he was going to throw up.  _It must have been hard for him, containing all that disappointment._

He was vaguely aware of another voice, distant and low, but it was a dull fuzz and paled to the fact that thick fingers grabbed his wrist too tightly, he winced as John's hand squeezed.

 _You pick yourself up, boy._  John ordered,  _Get off your damn ass and do whatever it takes to get your mother back. God knows I killed for a chance like you've got. The way you've been acting... I didn't raise you to be some demon's bitch._

"No," Dean whimpered, while Alastair laughed, "no, that's not-"

_Well... you've never lived up to expectations, have you, Dean? Failure is the only thing you're consistently good at._

_I said, get up!_  John barked,  _Don't make me tell you again._

Dean pushed himself to his feet almost automatically, he swayed and something gripped his arm, steadying him; warmer than Alastair and gentler than John. Dean blinked and the gas station, which had seemed like a distant memory only seconds ago, swam back into view. Cas stood in front of him, his forearm under Dean's own, holding his elbow, his other hand was clenched around Dean's shirt over his shoulder.

"Come back, Dean." He murmured, and there was honest to Chuck  _fear_  in his voice, "Please, come back to me."

John scoffed at the angel's tone as Dean blinked again, using those blue eyes as a focal point that allowed everything else to fall back into place around them.

Dean realised that he was standing at attention and allowed his shoulders to sag a little, the hand on his wrist vanished but Cas' remained, strong and solid. Dean twisted his arm in the angel's grip so he could wrap his own fingers around Cas' bicep.

"What happened?" Cas asked, his voice was hoarse but soft, those eyes boring into his own. Dean looked away. There was no way he was going to be able to brush this one off, not when Cas had seen him turn into a quivering mess on the ground. What  _had_  just happened?

He pulled his hand from Cas' arm and walked on shaky legs to the trunk, yanking it open. He rummaged around inside his duffel bag and pulled out the balled-up shirt, he tossed that aside and took a swig from the bottle of moonshine he'd been saving for a rainy day. Well, it might not be raining but Dean figured it didn't really matter. Cas watched him down one mouthful of the stuff, then two before he intervened, grabbing Dean's arm when he made to raise it again, a little of his angel strength showing in the action.

"If you drink any more I'll just purge it from your system." He promised.

"Killjoy." Dean said weakly.

"I can't heal you." Cas looked pained at the admission. "I can't sense anything amiss, even watching you..." he trailed off and shook his head. "I'm out of practice or too far removed from my powers. Perhaps I've fallen too far." He glanced up at the sky suddenly, as though appealing for help. Dean snorted, they both knew nothing was listening out there that would be any use. He met Dean's eyes again with surprising anger, "I feel your fear and I can't  _do_ anything."

Dean shrugged. Almost disappointed, and ashamed of his disappointment.

"So, stop feeling." He said, taking another swig from the bottle. True to his word, Cas touched two fingers to his temple and the burn of the alcohol disappeared.

"That is  _not_  advice you can give to me." Cas said, a hint of thunder in his voice. "I'd rather you give me an explanation."

"And I'd rather you didn't burn away good moonshine." Dean shot back, shoving the bottle back into the duffel bag and walking away from the car, he still had a few minutes left before he told Sam they had to leave... besides, he was driving, it's not like they'd go anywhere until he got back.

"You do  _not_  get to be evasive right now." Cas fumed, spinning him by the shoulder, Dean lurched a little, taken-aback by Cas' fury, "not after I just watched you lose your grip on reality and talk to your dead father! Don't you  _dare_  walk away from me after that. What the hell is this about?"

 _Anger, good, you know what to do with that,_  John murmured,  _punch back harder._

"What does it matter if you can't do anything anyway?" Dean snapped, hating himself as Cas recoiled for a moment, before regaining his righteous anger.

"You're being ridiculous," Cas said, "we will figure out how to fix this if you tell me what's going on."

_You've gotten soft, Dean, you're going to get Sam killed. You think you can take on Lucifer when you can't even stand up to the angel who actually puts up with you?_

_He's only going to keep pushing,_ Alastair pointed out,  _What explanation can you give him? That your mind isn't your own anymore? That makes you a liability. Maybe he'll finally see that and leave._

 _Or he'll bench you,_  John added,  _and you'll be stuck in some motel room while they die because you weren't there to protect them._

"Aren't you supposed to be pissed at me?" Dean reminded him, "go back to that whole not talking thing, that was fun."

"I'm plenty pissed." Cas assured him with a growl. " _and_  I want to know what's going on."

"Yeah, well I want an endless supply of bacon but what are ya gonna do?"

At that moment, the cheery tinkle of the diner bell sounded and Dean looked up to see Sam crossing the parking lot. He paused and his eyes narrowed as he saw his brother and Cas squaring off. Hit by a sudden wave of panic, Dean turned back to Cas.

"Don't tell Sam." He said hurriedly.

Cas opened his mouth to argue, or to blackmail.

"Please."

"What did you do now?" Sam asked irritably when he reached them.

Cas held Dean's gaze for a long time, as though considering. He didn't have any reason  _not_  to tell Sam, angry as he was; he knew that if their situations had been reversed, it would have been the first thing out of his own mouth. Cas' eyes flicked downwards briefly, then he clenched his jaw.

"Your brother is impossible." Was all he said, opening the car door and folding himself into the back. Sam snorted and shot Dean a glare before heading to the passenger seat. Dean almost sagged in relief, getting into the car himself and starting up the engine. He glanced down at himself, wondering what it was that had changed Cas' mind and saw the packet of almonds poking out of his pocket. He pulled them out, confused, and threw them to Sam without a word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuun... There you go. What do you think? Does it work? Dean's being such an asshole, right?
> 
> All opinions and feedback are loved and cherished and always welcome.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter guys! Sorry it's taken a while.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Six hours later, Dean pulled into the almost empty lot of a desert motel. The scenery along the route had changed from the cool greens and greys of small towns and woodland to the harsh yellows and browns of desert scrubland. Dean had even relented to rolling down Baby's windows, despite the sand and dust that would inevitably coat the dash and upholstery. Despite the languorous shift from winter to spring back in Kansas, here, it felt like mid-summer. The air was dry and Dean was glad of the extra water bottles he'd bought at their latest rest stop. The remainder of the journey since that first break had been quiet and tense, although less unbearably so, though that might have had something to do with Cas being placated with visual confirmation of his suspicions. Dean didn't find that particularly comforting but whatever. It had been an epically long day, especially now John had made an appearance. He hoped with every fibre of his being that that had been a one-time occurrence, although he seriously doubted it. Sam went to book them a room while Dean and Cas stayed by the car.

He could feel Cas staring at him, wanting to ask him more questions, wanting to  _know._  But Dean didn't have any answers himself. He had no clue what the hell was going on with him, why Alastair had suddenly become way more active than usual, why John had joined the mess. It was crazy. He was hearing the voices of the dead, he was pushing away the people he cared about for some distant maybe, on the say so of hallucinations and the demon that haunted him. But he couldn't shake the conviction that it was the right thing to do, like an idea from long ago that had only recently resurfaced. He felt it in his core. He had to protect them, he had to stop them from becoming like him.

"We can deal with this in the morning, right?" He asked after dumping the two duffel bags onto the moth-eaten sofa in the dingy room. The lights were dim, with those stupid energy-saving bulbs that took at least an hour before they were anything resembling bright enough to see by. Sam blinked at him owlishly.

"Honestly? I just wanna crash for the next eight hours." He said. "You should too, maybe you'll wake up in a better mood. We can case the place tomorrow, Cas said we're not far, right?"

"From what I can determine." Cas confirmed, "although we won't be able to go the whole way in the car, the actual building is located in the desert itself, the land is too open and the car too visible not to give us away, even if there's only a small guard."

Dean nodded and called the bathroom so he could shower off some of the dust and sweat from the last few hours on the road. The sun had only set three hours ago and the earth here had yet to cool off from the unending onslaught of UV. He kept the water temperature low, not quite cold but it was refreshing after the long drive. He made sure to duck his whole head under the spray, while it might have the opposite effect of relaxing him enough to sleep, he hoped it might shock his brain into behaving for a while. Luckily, Alastair's wandering hands didn't appear and Dean stepped out of the bathroom in his sweatpants and t-shirt feeling a lot calmer than he had all day. Sam was right, they could deal with everything tomorrow. He collapsed onto the bed without the bags on it and was asleep before Sam had even stood up to use the bathroom himself.

 

***

 

Dean stood on the shore of a grey lake, the pebbled beach uneven under his feet. The lake seemed to stretch forever but he could see the other side clearly. There was a break in the clouds over there, the sun splitting into golden rays. One of the rays landed on the beach, which was more sand than stone over there. Mary and Sam were sat on a tartan blanket, Mary pulling food and disposable plates from a duffel bag. It was a perfect picnic scene; Mary sat with her legs crossed while Sam stretched out, propped up on his side by an elbow. Their lips moved in an easy conversation that Dean couldn't catch, though Sam laughed and Mary smacked him playfully on the leg with a paper plate. Mary laid out four places and piled sandwiches onto each. Dean's stomach growled. He glanced around, his own beach was deserted and dull, no picnic, no blanket, no family. The wind picked up and sent a chill through him. He looked back across the lake and felt warmer almost instantly. Mary toasted Sam with a beer before drinking. Suddenly, a blinding light appeared behind them, Dean tensed and almost cried a warning that they probably couldn't hear, but they both looked up, relaxed and smiling towards the light, Dean tried to look at it too but it burned his eyes, searing his retinas, he had to look away. When he dared to look back, the light had settled into the form of Cas, who was now cross-legged in between Sam and Mary with his own plate of sandwiches. Behind him however, the light framed him, and spread into two great shapes that Dean couldn't look at directly. He knew, in the way that people in the middle of a dream always  _knew_ , that those shapes were Cas' wings. He also knew that Sam and Mary could see them when he couldn't, they could look at Cas' vessel and see his true angel form without fear, and judging from the expressions of wonder on their faces, it was pretty damn spectacular.

They fell back into conversation while they munched on their sandwiches; Cas too, apparently he could taste food here even if he didn't need it, either that or he was just being polite. Dean watched on, an intense longing building in his chest. He didn't want to be on this washed-out beach on the edge of nowhere; he wanted to be over there, with his family, eating sandwiches and laughing and able to see Cas' wings. He hadn't exactly been able to appreciate them as a demon and when the demon had left him, the memory of them had slipped from his mind as though his human brain couldn't handle the sight.

"The demon never left you, Dean."

Dean looked around as Crowley emerged from the trees, brushing non-existent dust from his tailored suit. Dean raised an eyebrow, he wasn't surprised to see Crowley there, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"What are you doing here?"

"A fitting metaphor, don't you think? If a little crude. You, stuck over here in the land of monsters, separated by eternity from the people you love."

Now that Crowley mentioned it, Dean recognised this stretch of beach. It was the place he'd found Cas in Purgatory, splashing water on his face, dismayed at Dean's appearance. He hadn't wanted to be saved then. For the first time, Dean thought he understood.

"She set out a place for you." Crowley observed. Indeed, there was a plate of sandwiches left untouched by the others, none of them glanced over at it, none of them seemed to notice what was missing. Mary didn't even seem aware that she had set a place for both of her sons. Dean swallowed hard.

"They look pretty happy, don't they?"

Dean said nothing, his eyes fixed on his family.

"For what it's worth," Crowley said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah well, you're the one that got ganked."

Crowley huffed. "Not my finest hour."

"I dunno," Dean said, "you helped us out. It was a good thing."

"Right, and as former king of Hell, good things should be at the top of my to-do list." Crowley shook his head, "I don't know, you boys. There's something about you. You get under a demon's skin."

"Like parasites."

"Precisely." Crowley paused, "You just keep  _going_. All logic says you should have given up or died at least a decade ago. You survived Hell, your brother survived the Cage and now Castiel's come out the other end of the Empty. You keep breaking the rules of possibility as it suits and I can't help but find that fascinating."

"We've got a lot to keep fighting for." Dean said.

"Have you?" Crowley mused, "Because I thought it seemed more like you'd forgotten what you were fighting for. One goal replaced another with ridiculous tangents and side-plots. You started this to find your father, then to find the thing that killed your mother, then you go to Hell and things get fuzzy. You were brought back to become a meat suit for Michael. That should have been the end of your story, Dean."

"What can I say? I'm a rebel."

"You're a protector. You wanted to save your brother. Under all the bullshit, isn't that all you've ever wanted?"

"You think I've forgotten that?"

"I think you got distracted. Other wants piled on top, the fate of the world, reuniting your family, whatever it is you've got going on with Castiel."

"I don't-"

"My point is, Dean, that somewhere along the way, Moose learned how to fend for himself. You should be proud. Teach a man to fish and all that. That boy has survived just as much as you have and he managed it  _without_  the drinking problem."

"I already know he's better than I'll ever be." Dean said, watching as Sam sprinkled a pinch of sand into one of Cas' sandwiches when he wasn't looking and burst into laughter at the angel's apparent distaste when he took a bite. "I couldn't protect him. I was supposed to step in, I was supposed to take the damage so he never had to."

"Instead, he learned how to take a punch." Crowley said, "which is far more useful in your line of work."

"The line of work I never should have dragged him into."

"Oh please. Get over yourself. He had his own reasons for wanting back in."

Dean just stared at the picturesque family on that far-off beach.

"So what's the plan? Don't you think it would have been smarter to hold off on letting the asshole loose until you find out whether or not Heaven on Earth is actually possible?"

Dean shrugged. "Makes it easier this way. If there is a way, and Cas really thinks there is, then you and I both know that they wouldn't do it if it meant leaving me behind. Not even for a perfect world."

"Doesn't that tell you something?"

"Yeah," Dean said thickly, "they're dumbasses."

Crowley chuckled, "You'll get no argument from me on that one." He said.

"They wouldn't get it." Dean said, "even if I  _could_  live in that place, even if it didn't just reject me outright, I'd find a way to screw it up. I'm a murderer, and a torturer and I have crossed every line I've ever drawn. A world can't be without bad if I'm in it. And I know they'd stick with me if I asked them to but that wouldn't be right."

"Noble speech." Crowley drawled. "So what happens if bringing about this world doesn't get you killed? You going to do it yourself?"

"I'll get gone first." Dean said. "They don't need to know."

"You think they'll let you go, just like that? They'll find you, Dean. And it wouldn't take long, looks like Castiel gets all his angelic mojo back."

"I'll figure something out. Find myself a vamp nest or a werewolf before everything goes poof. Something that makes it look like I went out fighting."

"They'd be okay with that?"

"They'd be better with that that a bullet in my brain."

"I'm not so sure."

"What?" Dean said distractedly, smiling slightly as Cas reclined on the sand, scooping up the grains and letting them fall through his fingers.

"A bullet in the brain is probably the best way to go." Crowley gestured, "or they'll only try bringing you back again. If they think it was your choice… don't you think they'd be more likely to let your soul be?"

Dean glanced down at the demon.

"They'd hate me for it." Dean said.

"Isn't the plan to make them hate you anyway?"

"True." Dean's voice was tight. He didn't want to imagine Sam's reaction to finding him like that, he did anyway. It stung. It really freaking hurt to know that he would put Sam through that but maybe if he could piss him off enough beforehand, he could just blame it all on him, not like he'd still be around to care. He'd be too busy in the Empty, with Alastair.

"You know, Squirrel," Crowley said thoughtfully, "as much as I love a suicidal Winchester, I have to wonder, don't you think this feels like small potatoes?"

"What, the end of the world? Lucifer, Asmodeus."

"No, killing yourself to stop Lucifer,  _that_  I understand. I mean the whole utopia thing. You took one comment from Sam to mean that peace on Earth is the next item on the agenda and you've been obsessing over it for  _days_. What if it's not possible, what if it's not something Sam even thinks to look into when all this is over? Won't ridding the world of the Devil himself be enough? The stakes just don't feel high enough for you to go all hero complex over."

"Why do you care?"

"Oh, I don't," Crowley said, raising his hands as though trying to stay out of an awkward situation. "But this is your dream, mate, and clearly  _you_  care, so I'm asking."

Dean hesitated. Crowley had a point. It's not as though their current course of action would be bad for the world if it went according to plan. It might not be paradise but it would at least be more normal, right? Without Lucifer, Asmodeus or Crowley to lead them, the demons would scatter, back to their own unorganised mess of making the occasional deal and possessing the occasional poor bastard. But with the hierarchy all but collapsed, they wouldn't exactly be as much of a threat as they had been since… hell since their first stab at the Apocalypse. The angels would be the next thing. Either trying to find a way to beam 'em all up or get 'em settled down here, it was all the same to him as long as they didn't make trouble. He suspected Cas would have more of an opinion on that. There'd still be plenty of things to hunt, people to save, cases to work, his family beside him.  _That_  sounded more utopia to him than whatever Jack had shown Cas.

"Maybe I'm just ready." Dean said. "I mean, I'm going crazy anyway, right? What with Alastair and Dad. I can't put Sammy in danger like that. They're getting stronger, I can feel it. Sooner or later, I'm gonna break and who knows what that means? I think a drooling mess on the floor is probably best case scenario here, but that doesn't seem like Alastair's style." Dean swallowed. "He wants me to let the monster out."

"And your father?"

"He wants me to stop feeling." Dean chuckled darkly, "who knows? Maybe it's a winning combination. It's kinda hard to go on a killing spree when you hang out with an angel and your kid brother who keeps talking about morals."

Crowley hissed, sounding almost sympathetic. "It's not an ideal alternative." He said. "Perhaps you're right to take yourself out of the game. You were bad enough as a demon, and even then you held yourself back." He followed Dean's gaze to the idyllic beach in the distance.

"For what it's worth, I think they'll be okay without you. Happy, even."

"Yeah, I think so too."

"So… you say the clock's ticking?"

"Yeah." He'd known it from the second Alastair had grazed his shoulder in the shower, before, he'd just been a voice, something he hated but could ignore. But he had thought Alastair would never be able to break through that barrier, he'd thought he'd never be able to touch him again. And now he could. He was getting stronger, and with John in the mix too… well… Dean couldn't really put a time frame on how long it would take before he clawed his own eyeballs out.

"Go to them." Crowley said, pointing. Where he pointed was a bridge that crossed the span of the lake. It looked solid, as though it had always been there, although Dean could have sworn it wasn't there only seconds ago. Crowley shrugged at his questioning look, "It's a dream, moron."

Dean stepped onto the bridge and began to walk towards his family. Sam, Cas and Mary were still lounging in the sunshine, all the sandwiches bar the ones on his plate had been demolished, Dean walked more quickly. Cas stood, shaking sand out of his trenchcoat and walking towards the water's edge where he placed a hand into the water and plucked out a rock. He then went back to the others, showing them the rock, enthusing over whatever it was that made that rock special. Dean wished he could hear him, he wanted to hear about that rock suddenly, desperately, he had to be halfway across now, he caught the very edges of Sam's laugh. Then, he stopped suddenly, a palpable shadow on his neck. He spun and cried out.

The bridge was crowded, Alastair stood directly behind him, his face that inhuman monstrosity he'd only ever seen in Hell. John was next to him, just as imposing with his stocky build. He looked how Dean had seen him as a child, taller than he was, taking up more room than any man should, almost divine and twice as terrifying, eyes dark, calculating and angry. John saw every move he made, took stock of every mistake, filing it away for later. Dean felt his knees shaking as he stumbled backwards. John and Alastair followed, Dean stopped, and so did they. Dean took a half-step towards them, they mirrored him, stepping back the same distance. They were tied to him, he realised, part of him. He could no more cut them loose than he could go skinny dipping in a volcano. He felt them straining against him, pulling at his core, tearing out the stitches that fused him together. Dean knew that if they succeeded, there'd be nothing left of him at all.

Desperate, Dean turned back to look at the others, the tide was slowly inching up the golden sand, lapping at the forgotten plate of sandwiches. Sam was examining the rock Cas had picked up curiously. It seemed to have a slight, purple glow to it that was almost familiar. Mary was completely uninterested in the rock, however, she was chatting animatedly to Cas while he smiled fondly.

Dean started towards them again, breaking into a heavy run. He could hold himself together until he got there, they'd be able to help him, they could stop the bad from escaping, he believed that with all that he was.

The three on the beach looked at each other nervously as they noticed the rising tide, but made no move to get out of the way. The crystalline sea had turned the choppy grey of the Purgatory beach he had left behind, except, he  _hadn't_ left it behind, he was bringing it with him, he heard the snarls and howls of dead monsters in their endless cycle of kill and be killed, the hosts of Purgatory were in his blood, all things evil and wrong got closer to his family as he did, but he  _needed_  them.

"NO!" He yelled, as the water dropped cold stones on the golden sand, replacing the perfect with the putrid. He watched, helplessly as his family began to drown, even Cas, though by rights he should have been able to escape. Dean knew instinctively why he didn't just fly away, why none of them had run from the beach, despite the danger. They were waiting for  _him_ , they stayed because they knew he was coming and wanted to help. They thrashed in the water, now past their necks. Dean reached the end of the bridge and dived, swimming as fast as he could for Sam, who was closest. His fingers closed on plaid and he pulled, trying to heave his brother upwards, back to the surface, he hadn't taken the time to breathe before jumping in, his lungs burned even as he opened his eyes. Sam's eyes were open too, he clawed at his own throat, too disorientated to swim. Dean kept hold of his shirt and kept swimming until he found Mary, her skin icy and tinged with blue, she looked too cold to move by herself. He grabbed her too and tried to push them upwards, sending out a prayer for Cas, he didn't need to breathe, he'd be fine, he could save them.

A hand snaked around his ankle and he kicked violently, but Alastair's grip was like a vise. Alastair pulled him down as he squirmed and twisted. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of silver. Cas was grappling with John, fighting to get past him, to get to Sam, to get to Mary, to get to him. Their eyes locked for a split second, and that was distraction enough for John to sink the angel blade into Cas' chest. The angel's eyes burned out, his grace causing the water around him to boil. Dean let out a scream that no one heard. Sam had stopped fighting for air and gone limp, Mary floated face-down, her unblinking eyes staring at him accusingly. John yanked the blade from Cas' chest and turned to him, grinning. Dean stopped fighting Alastair's hold and sagged in the water. What was the point in fighting without anything left to fight for?

 

***

 

Dean snapped awake, kicking against Alastair's grip on his ankle; the sheets had gotten tangled around his feet and he yanked them off, the cheap cotton pulling away easily. He lay there, half-stunned. He took a shaky breath, then another, trying to regain control. He wasn't drowning, he was in the middle of a freaking desert. He could hear Sam's heavy breathing in the bed next to his. Tendrils of sunlight edged into the room, evaporating the sweat on his body, leaving him unsure whether he was hot or cold. He shivered and sighed, sitting up slowly. He glanced over at Sam who was starfished on his own bed, face turned towards the door, he smiled softly, Sam always slept like he was trying to take up as much room as physically possible. He'd always been the same, it had been hell to bunk with him when they were kids, the bastard was a kicker.

With the world still around him, it was easier to match his breaths to Sam's, forcing calm over his panic. It hadn't been particularly subtle, that dream; he was pretty sure he could name at least three or four major parts of it and what they meant with accuracy, but their bluntness didn't make them any less effective. He strengthened his resolve. He was on the right track, he had to be. He couldn't watch as the people he cared about were destroyed because he refused to do the right thing. The sound of footsteps made him tense, he shot out of bed and crept over to the window, snatching his gun from the nightstand as he did so. He was probably being ridiculous, this was a motel, maybe the only one within ten miles, of  _course_  there'd be other people.

A shadow passed by the window and Dean ducked out of view, peering after the figure. He relaxed, dropping the gun to his side. It was only Cas, pacing like an angry rottweiler. Well… they probably didn't need to worry about other guests with Cas looking like that, no one else would probably come near this part of the motel. He watched him for a moment and felt his dream recede even further into the recesses of his mind. He was grateful for that, knowing that Cas had been keeping an eye out made him feel marginally better. Cas would look out for Sam, no matter what happened to him. He knew that. Dean tossed a pair of jeans and a shirt at his brother from the duffel bag at the foot of his bed, then opened the front door and gestured Cas inside.

"We need to keep a low profile." Dean rebuked while Sam rolled out of bed, cursing and cranky. "You look like goddamn grumpy cat, how long have you been out there?"

"Since I was clearly of no use in here." Cas shot back, looking irritable and twitchy. "Apparently, my presence has no effect now. I can't even prevent you from having a nightmare."

"You didn't think to just… I dunno, wake me up?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's confused look, not bothering to deny that he  _had_  in fact, had a nightmare, Cas had probably felt everything he had, the angel was weirdly attuned to stuff like that, "the human way?"

Cas just glared at him.

"Oh, I get it, you were punishing me for being an ass?"

"So you admit that you've been acting like an ass."

Dean scoffed.

"Nice to know you have a vindictive streak." He said.

 _I wonder where he got that from_.

"I-"

"That's enough." Sam said firmly, cutting off Cas' retort as he pulled on a flannel. "Dean,if you can't stop yourself from acting like a dick then just shut up, okay? We've gotta get this Seal, this could be our one shot and I really don't need you screwing this up just because you're in a bad freaking mood."

Dean held up his hands and fell back into one of the rickety chairs.

"Alright," he said, "so what's the plan?" He looked up at Sam expectantly. Sam looked taken-aback for a moment.

"You don't wanna take point on this?" He asked, his tone suspicious.

"Nah." Dean said, waving a dismissive hand, "too much work. So whatcha thinking, champ?"

He didn't add that he didn't trust his own judgement right now, that any decision he made might not be wholly his own. His mind snapped back to the bridge, controlling, or being controlled by John and Alastair. The distinction had blurred.

"O-kay." Sam said slowly, frowning. He glanced at Cas, "what do you know about the specifics of this place?"

"The location," Cas said, "an approximate size. Nothing beyond that; it's big, too big for us to be able to search thoroughly in a short amount of time, although I think lingering would be unwise. Even if there aren't guards, I doubt Asmodeus has left the place completely unprotected and that could mean any kind of spell or warding or trap."

"Right," Sam said, "so it's best if we're precise and fast."

Cas nodded, his face grim.

"So…" Sam continued, "that means we need to get a basic layout of the place before we even try to get inside. We can do a scout mission, see what we can see. When we know if it's warded against angels or not then we can regroup and figure out the rest. Sound good?"

"I agree," Cas said, "we can't be too careful when it comes to Asmodeus."

"Great." Sam turned to his brother, "Dean?" his tone suggested that he expected an itemised list of all the things he had suggested and why they were wrong.

Dean shrugged. "I got no problems."

 

***

 

They headed out within the hour. Dean grabbed him and Sam greasy bacon rolls from the café next door before they left. They'd only been driving for about ten minutes when Cas directed him off-road, into the desert itself. Dean grumbled at how dusty Baby was going to get and drove carefully, wincing at every unavoidable rock or pothole.

Fortunately, it wasn't as far out as he'd feared and they pulled Baby up next to a huge, natural rock formation. Dean got out and checked for damage. Finding nothing major, he patted the car fondly and apologised to her before following Cas and Sam on foot the rest of the way.

From the outside, it looked like a converted warehouse. It had a small garden, lush and unnaturally green in the otherwise barren landscape, there were a few well-tended bushes and even a greenhouse closer to the building itself, but nothing large enough to provide adequate cover if they tried to sneak in.

"How did he get those to grow here?" Sam asked quietly, Dean suspected it was a rhetorical question but Dean responded anyway.

"Green thumb?"

"No, Dean, look." He said, pointing, "Rhododendron, marsh marigolds, canna flowers, hell, I'm pretty sure that's a wasabi plant. They're  _not_  easy things to grow, particularly in a desert, how is he doing it?"

"Since when were you all Alan Titchmarsh?"

Sam shrugged, "I've been through enough books on plants to pick some things up," he said, "almost every plant has some kind of property that can be used in a spell or a potion."

"What troubles me," Cas put in, "is who's tending the garden while he's been away. These plants are well looked after and as Sam said, a garden of this variety will need regular upkeep. I don't think this place is deserted."

"Cas is right." Sam muttered, "I don't like being out in the open like this, can we case around a bit? See what we can see?"

"It's your show, Sammy."

"I don't think I can get much closer." Cas said grimly, "It's definitely warded, and strongly. There must be at least four points of warding that you'd have to break for me to be able to get in."

"Okay," Sam said, looking unhappy but resolute. "You take the perimeter then, go back as far as you can without losing sight, Dean and I will try and get closer to the place itself. Dean, you go left, towards the greenhouse, I'll go right and we'll meet up around the back. If either of you see a demon, hide if you can but whatever you do, don't let it raise an alarm. If we get spotted and Asmodeus finds out we've been poking around it might just blow our chances for good."

"Gotcha, smoke 'em."

"If that happens then we're gonna have to move in blind." Sam said, "we  _can't_  risk Asmodeus finding out about this, his guards going missing will be just as much a warning sign as if we just called him and told him what we were planning."

"Gotcha," Dean repeated, "smoke 'em  _quietly_."

He was rewarded with Sam's bitchiest face.

"Alright," Sam said, "Let's get the walkie-talkies and go."

"Walkie-talkies?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Sam said firmly, "If Cas sees anything that we don't then he needs a way to tell us about it. He can't pray to  _us_ , right?"

"Correct." Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes but made no argument. He jogged back to the car to retrieve the walkie-talkies and, after giving Cas a quick tutorial on the thing, they set off. Dean kept Sam in sight for as long as he could until he ducked behind a shrub with some freaky, bright-red flowers on it. He glanced around carefully, looking for any sign of movement or trap. There was nothing, and there were very few places to hide. Dean bit his lip and ignored the bad feeling crawling up his gut. He didn't like this, it was too open and too quiet. A place like this shouldn't be abandoned, especially if Asmodeus was no longer in residence, it should be crawling with demons to protect his treasures, or gutted for transport but it looked pristine and intact. He crept across the grass to the greenhouse and peered inside. Tomato plants flourished, and some others that Dean didn't bother to catalogue. Apparently, this Prince of Hell enjoyed gardening. Better than murder he supposed.

He spotted Sam rounding the far corner of the building and did the same on his side, pressing up against the whitewashed stone. He shuffled to the closest window and looked inside. The room looked clean and neat, if a little small, a single, empty easel stood in the very centre, facing the window. Around the edges of the room were rows upon rows of canvases. Some blank, others spattered with abstract colour, some with almost photographic recreations of things and places and people.

"Okay…" Dean muttered, "so he paints too?"

"Sam." Cas' voice crackled through the walkie at this hip, Dean's eyes snapped from a photorealistic painting of an ugly stone ring to listen.

"Yeah?"

"There's a group of demons heading your way." Cas said, "They're coming out of what I think is the garage."

"How many?"

"I'm not sure." Cas said, "at least four or five but there might be more inside. I don't think you can avoid them, Sam."

"Dammit." Dean muttered, then he pulled the walkie from his waistband and pressed the button to speak. "I'm on my way."

"No, Dean."

"Excuse me?"

"I've got this, you use the distraction to get into the house and look for the Seal."

"Sammy, if you think I'm just gonna-"

"This is  _my_  plan, Dean, we're doing it my way. I'll be fine. Find that Seal, break the warding if you can so Cas can help." The line of communication went dead.

"Dammit." Dean cursed again, kicking at the wall of the building. "Fine."

Dean put his elbow through the glass of the art room and levered the thing open, the crash didn't summon anything so Dean figured anything that would have come running was busy with Sam. Still, he didn't waste time crawling through the smashed window and landing, ungracefully, on the floor. Brushing himself off, Dean glanced around at the plain walls. Despite all the art, not one of the pieces was framed or hung up, his eyes raked the room for any sign of warding but there wasn't any, not in this room at least. He strode to the door and opened it, he wasn't worried about traps, not that he didn't think there would be any, but he just couldn't bring himself to care all that much. They'd lost the element of surprise already so it was only a matter of time before Asmodeus figured out they were here, and he figured the Prince of Hell knew that he would be more of a deterrent than any trick floorboards or poison darts. So really, the only danger was if the big guy showed up.

 _The only danger to_ you _maybe,_  John muttered in his ear,  _but Sam's out there, fighting a host of demons on his own and you're just gonna let him?_

"He's gotten out of worse before." Dean argued, pushing down the fear in his sour stomach as he opened the next door in a long corridor, looking for a study, or a library, something with papers. This one was adorned with tapestries and an honest to God loom. The walls were thick with biblical scenes and battles and even some weird portraits, the next room housed sculptures whittled from wood, the next a bunch of embroidery, the next was full of taxidermy.

"Jeez." Dean said softly to himself, "no one was kidding when they said he was working on his hobbies." Dean just hadn't expected Asmodeus to have tried his hand at every hobby under the sun. Dean felt weird in this place, it didn't feel right how  _confined_  it all was. None of the artwork or sculptures touched the main hallway, which was large and bright and plain. Nothing was displayed or intermingled. Each room held a single hobby, and Asmodeus had clearly taken the time to master each one, but there was no passion behind his creations, nothing that suggested he cared about the thousands of hours spent meticulously crafting chairs he would never sit in or knitting jumpers he would never wear. It made him uncomfortable in a way that it shouldn't, in the way that a normal human would be creeped out by such an unnaturally impersonal home. He checked rooms as fast as he could, painfully aware that Sam was facing off against a load of demons without backup just yards away, he heard muffled shouts and the clashing of blades now, after another room full of pottery, Dean snapped and snatched the walkie-talkie from his hip, fiddling with the frequency so he'd cut Sam out of the conversation, he didn't need the distraction.

"Cas, how's he doing?"

"He's taken out several of them but there were more than I thought. He looks alright, though he may be tiring, have you found the Seal?"

"No." Dean tried not to let his desperation show, "it's just rooms of freaking candles and junk. I don't even know what I'm looking for, man. Papers? The Holy Grail? Look, if I go and help Sam we can comb through all this stuff properly, take our time."

"No." Cas said sharply, "we have no idea how often those demons are supposed to report back to Asmodeus, we don't know how long it'll take for him to get suspicious. If he shows up, we're all dead. We can't take that risk."

Dean clicked off, frustrated. He checked a few more rooms and  _finally_  found freaking bookshelf. He stepped closer, the books were all the same size, a little like Billie's death library. Journals then. Perfect. Dean searched for any convenient titles, there were none, all the books had the same title, but different years, ' _Collection_ '.

It was perfect, exactly what he needed, short of the clearly labelled Seal of Solomon displayed on a pedestal. Well, that and a week to go through it all for any mention of the thing

 _Sam's tiring._  John snapped at him,  _Who knows how much longer he can hold out? You need to protect your brother, Dean. Nothing else matters._

"But the seal, it could be right here." Dean said, pulling out several of the books towards the end the shelf. They needed recent history, not ancient. He shoved a couple into his backpack, panic starting to gnaw at him, it was a long fight, he could barely hear enough of it to judge how it was going, just the tail-end of shouting and the occasional electric charge of a demon dropped with the knife. He didn't have time to break the warding to let Cas in. How many should he take? Which ones? Who knew how long Asmodeus had had the thing, how long it had been since its record was updated. He kept pulling books, barely flicking through them, shoving as many into the backpack at the material would take, he emptied it of his weapons, blades, salt, holy water just to squeeze in one more book. Shadows flitted past the window as more demons headed to the fray.

 _He could be dying right now!_  John yelled at him,  _You could be killing him by doing this!_

"It's what he wants." Dean said, shaking his head, grabbing another book.

_Since when did you give a damn about what he wants? Your job isn't to follow his orders, boy, it's to keep him safe. You should be the one in that fight, since when did you start letting your little brother take the hits for you?_

"That's not how it is." It came out as a plea, begging his dead father to understand, he was trying to follow Sam's direction, support him, he could take care of himself.

 _He shouldn't have to._  John growled.  _You know he only does because_ you _failed. He couldn't be protected from this life because even as a kid, I knew you weren't gonna be strong enough to protect him like you should have been so I had to prepare him too. He never should have had this life, Dean, and the only reason he does is because I couldn't trust you to keep him safe._

Dean dropped the backpack, his knees giving way.

"Please." He said, although he wasn't sure what he was asking for. "Please."

 _You beg so prettily, Dean._  Alistair purred and the ghost of fingers caressed his torso.

 _Get off your damn knees._  John ordered,  _Make yourself useful and help your brother. Or are you just going to leave him to die? Is that what you want, Dean? Would it make your life easier if you didn't have Sam around?_

"No." Dean's voice cracked. He forced himself back to his feet. Grabbing a flask of holy water and a blade that he doused in salt, he ran for the back door. Sam might be the one able to kill demons, but if he was swarmed then Dean could offer up one hell of a distraction.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas' voice was static over the walkie-talkie as he emerged from the house, flipping his blade in hand. He ignored it and sprinted instead for the outbuilding where bodies were littered and the fighting was still going. He saw a flash of brown hair in the middle of the mess and rushed forward, yelling. Sam was facing off against four demons, Dean pulled out the gun from his waistband and fired a few shots. The bullets didn't do much, of course, but one of the demons turned away from Sam with a furious scream. He splashed holy water at it and sliced his salt-covered blade through its ribs. The wound burned and the demon shrieked.

"Dean?" Dean looked up, distracted, finding Sam staring at him, confused as he dispatched another demon, it's host falling to the ground. His distraction gave the demon he had slit open to throw him backwards, then it was on him and drew a wicked looking knife which it proceeded to try and plunge into his heart. Dazed by his fall, Dean barely managed to grab on to the falling arm. His own arm strained with the effort of keeping the dagger from piercing his chest, the cold steel punctured his shirt, then his skin, drawing blood, then Sam was there, sticking the demon knife through the thing's throat. Dean pushed the corpse off of him to watch the final demon smoke out of its vessel in a black cloud, the body dropping in its wake.

"No!" Sam yelled, staring at it with wide, panic-filled eyes as the cloud streaked away. Then he rounded on Dean, who had gotten back to his feet. "We've gotta go." Sam said, "Asmodeus could be here any second. Did you get it?"

"I-" Dean's head felt heavy, "no. There were books, but I had to help you."

"You-" Fury glinted in Sam's eyes, but he took a deep breath. "You know what? We don't have time, where are the books?"

"Inside, in my backpack."

"Okay." Sam started off, back towards the house.

"I'll go," Dean called after him, "I know what room they're in."

"You've done enough." Sam snapped back. "Get back to the car and come get me, we need to get gone, now."

Dean didn't argue, he turned and ran, he saw Cas doing the same from further off, he must have seen what happened. He reached Baby first and climbed in, starting the engine. He revved her up and steered her over to Cas first, then the house where Sam was running towards them, Dean's backpack on his shoulder and an armful of more books, he pulled up in a squealing half-turn that sent dust flying everywhere and they took off without looking back.

 

***

 

They didn't stop back at the motel, not even to fill up Baby's tank. They needed to get back to the bunker as soon as possible, it was the only place they knew of that Asmodeus couldn't follow them. Sam was jumpy, twisting around in his seat to make sure they weren't being followed every thirty seconds, Cas had taken the backpack from Sam started flipping through the books. Dean kept driving, eyes fixed on the road, practically twitching from adrenaline.

They were about an hour or two out of the state when Sam finally relaxed enough to be angry.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded of Dean. "What did you come running into the fight for? I told you I had it. I was fine. If I hadn't had to come and save your sorry ass, that other demon wouldn't have gotten away and we would have had more time to search the place."

Dean's jaw clenched.

"I had to make sure you were okay."

"Seriously?  _That's_  what you call almost getting yourself killed? You didn't even take down  _one_  of them, Dean. I thought you agreed to follow my lead on this. My plan would have given us maybe a couple of hours to try and find the Seal itself rather than freaking  _books_. We don't know that it wasn't there and if it is then we might not be able to get back in. You didn't trust me to do this and you might have doomed Mom and Jack!"

He paused then, taking deep breaths and turning his head forward to watch the road, as if fighting against his next words. "You let us down."

Dean felt his stomach bottom out at the words, no less so because they were true.

 _You just can't do anything right, can you?_  John's voice rumbled.

Dean felt like a frayed string. He wanted to rage and punch things, he wanted to knuckle down and search though the journals they'd salvaged for any mention of the Seal, he wanted to drink whiskey until he blacked out.

 _You'll never be good enough for him, will you, Dean?_ Alastair tutted in his ear. Dean felt a shiver go through him as the hallucination nipped at his earlobe.  _No matter what you do, he'll never love you like he loved Sam. You'll never be the perfect shield he wanted you to be. You cracked too early. But that's okay, Dean. He might own you, but you're still_ my _good boy, aren't you? My favourite plaything. You're mine just as much as you are his._

"Dean?" Cas' voice sounded from the backseat, filled with concern, concern he didn't deserve, concern he was trying to destroy, to keep them out of it. To stop whatever was infecting him from spreading, to give them the lives they wanted.

"What?"

"You're crying."

Sam's head jerked around to look at him. Dean glanced at himself in his reflection on the dashboard. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, he hadn't even realised. He wiped them away with the back of his hand impatiently.

"Look, man," Sam said gently, he was clearly trying to go for a placating tone, but the expression on his face was one of half surprised confusion and half discomfort. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm just pissed."

"Don't be sorry, Sam." Dean said, "You're right."

"What?"

"You're right. I almost got us all killed back there. Again. I went off script and I screwed up and I let you all down. If we don't find the Seal then it's my fault. If we don't get Mom back then it's my fault. If we can't rid the world of all things bad then that'll be my fault too."

Sam and Cas shared a look.

"Cas mentioned you talking about that." Sam said slowly. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"I can't do this right now." Dean said bluntly.

"Dean-"

"No, Sam. Just…" Dean pulled the car over and shut off the engine. "Give me ten minutes okay? I've gotta be alone right now."

 _You'll never be alone, Dean,_  Alastair whispered, brushing his fingers along the nape of his neck.  _Haven't you figured that out by now?_

Dean didn't wait for a response from the others but stumbled out of the car and into the trees framing the road. After a few moments he broke into a run. Crashing through the foliage, his only thought was to get  _away_.

 _Are you trying to run from me?_  John asked, half sounding amused,  _You know you can't be trusted by yourself. What the hell would you do without me, Dean? I'm the part of you that gets things done. It's not as though you have any ideas of your own. You've lived your whole life trying so hard to be me._

_You're nothing without us, Dean. We're the best parts of you. The only parts of you left. You destroyed everything else._

_Like you're destroying them._

Dean tripped and fell to his knees, breathing hard on the damp earth.

 _You're pathetic, you know that?_  John said casually, gripping his shoulder so hard that Dean winced.  _Nothing's changed in the past thirteen years, has it? You still need your family more than they need you, you're still poison, you're still worthless. Your only goal was to protect Sam and you failed. Again and again, you failed. And now, you've let Mary down too. The one person who was supposed to be free of you. So tell me, Dean. Why are you still here?_

"I-" Dean was shaking. Everything about him was shaking, his head felt like a damn blender. The world tilted and nausea overcame him. He threw up noisily and pushed himself away from the resulting mess. He felt the tears now, hot and streaming.

 _Don't you want this to stop, Dean?_  Alastair hummed, stroking a hand through his hair and rubbing gentle circles on his back.  _You can't wait until you open that portal, can you? That's alright. You won't have to listen to your father anymore, you won't let anyone down, you won't be a failure. Everything will be quiet, and dark, and you'll be with me, where you belong._

_You won't be able to hurt anyone else, son. Not Sam, not your angel friend, not Mary. Maybe it's for the best. It's the only way to protect them. To_ really _protect them._

"It's too soon." Dean moaned. "I was supposed to be able to hold it together, at least a while longer."

 _You were supposed to do a lot of things, Dean,_  John said,  _but you've never quite managed to hit the mark._

 _They can do this without you,_ Alastair assured him,  _I daresay it'll be easier for them._

 _Just think of what's best._  John said gently,  _Sacrificing yourself to save them… really, isn't that just the easiest choice you've ever made?_

Dean reached back to pull out the gun from his waistband and cradled it in front of him. His dream of the night before came rushing back to him as he stared at the metal, the comfortable grip, the magazine clip, the barrel. It was a good gun, one of his favourites. It had never let him down, never once jammed on him. His emotions were in tatters, he barely knew where he was, he felt like a live wire stripped of its protective casing, exposed and dangerous. He raised the gun to his temple.

It was fitting really, that he die like this, at his own hand after another failure. After all, isn't that all hunting boiled down to? You could dress it up in pretence, say you started for revenge and you continued in order to save people. But the life of hunting only ever ended one way, it was part of the appeal.

With the voices of his father and Alastair clogging his ears, Dean closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it.
> 
> Opinions? Thoughts? All are welcome.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Again, I'mma start off with an apology, this chapter has taken me forever to write and I'm sorry. I've kind of written myself into a corner and I'm not really sure where it's going to go which isn't very helpful really.
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys so much for sticking by me.
> 
> There's a bit more violent/gorey imagery in this one so if that bothers you, consider this a friendly warning :)
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

The gun clicked hollowly several times before Dean remembered that he'd emptied the magazine in that demon bitch back in Colorado. A broken laugh escaped him and didn't stop, he laughed so hard that he thought he might throw up again. There was nothing healing about it, it was heavy and painful and it choked him, the line blurred between laughter and sobbing but his gun hand was surprisingly steady, his finger still pressing the trigger rhythmically as though his arm was the only part of him that had any clue what the hell was going on.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up, still chuckling feebly. Sam towered there like an obelisk, staring down at his brother in horror.

"Man," Dean said, "when Dad gets back, he's gonna be so pissed that I didn't reload."

"Oh my God." Was all Sam said, his voice tight, "Oh my God."

"What?"

"Dean, drop the gun."

Dean snorted, "It's fine, Sam, it's empty, look." He squeezed the trigger against his head and Sam flinched. "See? Empty."

"Stop." Sam said, stumbling towards him, clasping his hand in both of his own, gently prying the gun from his grip. Dean let it go and watched as Sam clicked on the safety and slid it into the back of his own waistband. Without the gun, Dean let his arm fall. Sam knelt in front of him then, placing a warm hand on either side of his head, forcing him to meet his eyes, his wide, panicked eyes, brimming with unshed tears.

"Why?" He asked, voice cracking. And he sounded so much like a frightened toddler that Dean blinked and Sam was four years old, asking his big brother why Daddy was leaving again.

"Don't be scared Sammy." Dean said with a small smile. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay. I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, I promise."

"Okay," Sam muttered, looking away and inhaling sharply and running a hand through his hair, the way that he did when he was holding back tears. "Okay, we've gotta get back to the bunker. I'm gonna take you home, and we're gonna figure this out, alright? You don't know what you're doing."

Dean stared at his brother with a sickening mix of love and pity and self-loathing. He'd never wanted to be the cause for that look of Sam's face.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, "it wasn't supposed to happen yet. I was supposed to make you hate me first."

That brought Sam's eyes right back to his and the pain in them stabbed at Dean's gut.

" _Hate_ you?" He choked out. "You've been  _planning_ this? Jesus, Dean."

"-but I know exactly what I'm doing, Sam." Dean continued, holding his brother's eyes, "I'm doing what I do. I'm killing a monster."

Sam's face twisted, then he grabbed Dean under his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Dean allowed it, though his legs were still shaky when Sam released him.

"Come back to the car." Sam said desperately, gesturing through the trees back towards the impala. "We can talk about this."

Dean took a step back. "I can't do that, Sam." He said, "I've gotta do this. You got a gun?"

Sam exhaled quick and pained, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"No, I don't have a- Jesus  _Christ_. Just… just come back to the car, okay?"

Dean shook his head, exasperated. He knew this was hard for Sam and that was making it even harder for him but it was something he  _had_  to do, he'd known it for days. Hell, he'd known it for  _years_ , although he'd thought he'd gotten past the danger a long time ago. He had to make Sam understand; If he couldn't force Sam away from him then maybe he could try reasoning.

"They'll be back, Sam! And I can't stop them. They're stronger than me, they've always been stronger than me. And I don't know what happens if they win, but I know it won't be pretty. Maybe I'll come after you, or Cas. I can't let that happen and this is the only way to make them stop. They can't break me if I'm dead."

"Who?" Sam's eyes were swimming with confusion, he looked so lost.

At the very least, Dean owed him the truth.

"Dad." He confessed, looking away from Sam's flinch. "Dad and Alastair. They want me to break and it's gonna happen, Sam, I can feel it." He stared pleadingly at his brother, willing him to understand, "it's only getting worse and I can't fight them anymore. I'm not strong enough. They talk to me, they make me see things. And they  _want_  me to do this, but if I don't then they're gonna push me the other way instead. They could make me kill you, Sam. They could make me kill Cas and they wouldn't stop there. You know me, you know how dangerous I can be. Can you imagine me but with Dad and Alastair driving? With Dad's strategy and Alastair's hard-on for pain, I could bring the world to its knees and you know it."

Sam looked at him for a long moment, then something flickered in his eyes and he dropped his head.

"You always could." He muttered, so quietly that Dean wasn't sure he was supposed to hear. "Alright. I get it. I don't know what's going on but I get it. You've gotta do this. Come back to the car, there's- there are guns in the car."

Dean hesitated, turning the point over in his mind, then he shrugged, it was true enough. There were guns and blades and bullets aplenty in the impala, at this point, he wasn't going to be picky. He needed a weapon of some kind and he didn't much fancy going to a store.

"Alright." He said, starting back towards the impala. "I suppose seeing as this is happening like this… I should probably say goodbye too."

"Yeah." Sam said with a strangled sound in his throat. "You've never been good at those."

"I know." Dean gave a weak chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. "Man, what am I gonna say to Cas?"

"You're gonna look him in the eye and tell him exactly what you're planning to do." Sam said, a hint of anger in his tone now. "God knows he's earned that much truth from you."

Dean winced but nodded.

"You're right."

"Yeah, I do that a lot, you should start listening."

Dean snorted.

"And break the streak of a lifetime? No way."

Sam said nothing, his eyes got a faraway look for a moment before snapping back to the present. Dean shook his head and pushed through the last few trees to see the impala sitting there, back door open.

"Hey, where's-" Dean started to ask, but suddenly, Cas was directly in front of him and his fingers were pressing to his temple and he would have crumpled to the ground if Sam hadn't caught him.

 

***

 

He woke up tied to one of the chairs in the war room of the bunker. Groggy, he blinked a few times before tugging at the rope on his wrists to test them. Damn, they were strong.

"-we gonna do?" A voice bled into his brain, distorted and blurry, "we can't keep him tied up here forever, Cas, who knows how long it's gonna take for us to fix this."

"Do  _you_  trust him to be able to move freely right now?" Another voice rumbled. "In the bunker of all places, where there's a fully-stocked armoury, not to mention a kitchen with knives and glass he could break."

Dean stopped listening, his head was pounding, he groaned and the voices stopped. The world shifted back into focus. Sam was sat opposite him, looking every bit the concerned younger brother, Cas had clearly been in the middle of pacing, but now they were both staring at him. He groaned again and rolled his neck around to ease some of the ache of being unconscious in a chair for who knew how long.

"What?" He asked. "No dungeon?"

Cas rolled his eyes. Sam's lips pressed together.

"Can you please explain to us-" Cas said, his voice tightly controlled, "-exactly what has been going on with you for the past few days. And exactly  _how_  it led to you attempting suicide?"

"I probably could, if I tried." Dean snarked.

"This isn't the time for your wisecracks, Dean." Cas snapped. "Explain. Now."

Dean almost cracked another joke, but stopped himself at the look on the angel's face. Beneath all that righteous fury was fear, fear for  _him_.

"Dean," Sam put in, drawing Dean's attention to his brother, "please."

Dean looked between the two people he loved most in this world, the two people who had sacrificed more than anyone, who had broken and built themselves back up from the very foundations more than once. The people who had never given up on him, not once. Even after he kept letting them down.

"What does it matter?" He muttered, half to himself, "If it makes you feel better to know then what the hell."

Then he explained, haltingly, what had been happening since he first heard Alastair's voice in the impala. He told them about the more… sensory hallucinations although he skirted over a lot of the details. He didn't look at them while he was talking. He couldn't bear to watch how their expressions would darken. He had to force a lot of it out of his mouth, telling them felt… wrong. As though he were betraying a bond of trust by confiding in them, but a bond of trust to whom exactly, he couldn't say. As he described his dream back in Colorado, he noticed Sam's hands grip together until the knuckles turned white. As he told them some of the things that John and Alastair had whispered to him, he heard Cas stop breathing.

When he finished, there was a long pause while Sam and Cas looked at each other.

"Do you get it now?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse from all the talking. "Do you understand why I have to do this? This is big, guys, a  _war_. And I'm gonna be on the wrong side unless I take myself out. You want that world without bad, don't you? You want those lives I saw, the ones Jack showed Cas. A world can't be without bad if I'm in it. I mean… come  _on_. You know what I've done, both of you, you think there's any coming back after that? You think I've still got a spot in Heaven? No. My soul is going wherever the hell Alastair is and that's me getting off easy."

"I don't believe that." Sam said quietly, "Do you really think Chuck would let that happen?"

"Do  _you_  really think Chuck gives a damn?" Dean retorted. "Asshole might owe us but that doesn't mean anything, you know that."

"I thought you'd gotten past thoughts like that." Cas said, frowning at him, his blue eyes piercing him deeper than any blade. Dean swallowed, uncomfortable with the intensity.

"Well, things change." Dean said, avoiding meeting the angel's eyes, "Sometimes, things come back when they need to."

"Or when a deal is made." Cas murmured, then, ignoring the brothers' confusion, stepped towards Dean urgently. "Dean, did you touch the fruit?"

"Fruit?" Dean said, confused, "the tree of life fruit?"

"Yes, did you touch it?"

"I- I guess. I mean, it was wrapped in napkins but I felt something weird on my hand so maybe-"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sam asked.

"Well, perhaps we've been looking at this the wrong way." Cas said, whirling around to face Sam, "Perhaps these aren't new ideas that Dean's been having, perhaps they're  _old_  ones brought back to life."

"What do you mean?"

"The fruit grants life. What if it isn't limited to the more  _physical_  aspects of life as I thought? When I was carrying it I felt rather nostalgic but I didn't think much of it at the time, it seemed to fit the situation."

"You think the fruit can resurrect  _ideas_?" Sam asked, sceptically, "I dunno, isn't that a little abstract?"

"We're talking about a fruit from one of the first trees in creation, blessed by God himself to grant life, I don't think we can rule it out."

Dean shifted subtly in his chair, trying to test his bonds from a different angle. They were secured well. Damn. Whether the fruit had done something to him or not, it made no difference. It didn't make the ideas less true, it didn't make what he had to do any less vital. If he could just get the others out of the room for a few minutes, he knew there was a gun taped under the table.

"I mean, I guess it makes sense," Sam was saying, thoughtfully, "but why  _these_  ideas. Shouldn't it only bring back… I don't know, good things? Healing things?"

"Perhaps these were the ideas that Dean holds the most emotional attachment to." Cas suggested. "Alastair and your father both were major influences on his life. Perhaps it was only the strongest of ideas associated with them that have manifested."

"Can we reverse it?" Sam asked.

The grim look Cas gave him was apparently enough to confirm his fears because he closed his eyes for a few moments before looking over at Dean, who shrugged. Dean was only half paying attention to the conversation. The rope around his left ankle had slightly more give than the others, perhaps if he could get it free… well, he'd still be tied to a chair, so it wasn't ideal, but it was something so he decided to just roll with it.

"I don't know. I've never heard of this before. I just always assumed it would be an exchange of power in a more tangible way. A longer life in exchange for memories for example, but this? It has given life to Dean's worst fears, what did it take?"

"It's trying to take his  _life_ , Cas!" Sam cried.

"As a result, not as part of the exchange. Anything it took would have happened as soon as he touched the fruit."

"But he's been the same. I mean, irrational and angry sure, but he's still  _Dean._ "

"Yes." Cas agreed, "I believe I would be able to tell if it had taken from his life-force or altered his soul in any way."

"Stop looking at my soul, dude." Dean muttered under his breath, wiggling his foot as much as he could without drawing attention.

"I'm not." Cas snapped at him, "I don't need to. I'd sense it, I'd  _know._ "

"Okay," Sam stepped in before Dean could retort with something no-doubt very witty and eloquent, "does it matter? I mean, we have to find a way to fix it anyway, right? What difference does it make what's missing if he's going to try and fall on a blade the first chance he gets."

"Hey," Dean said, "I resent that."

"I don't care." Sam said,

"I don't care." Dean repeated in a high pitched, whine that sounded, he thought, rather spot on. Sam rolled his eyes.

"We need to study the fruit." Cas said, resuming his pacing and running a hand through his hair as he did so. "If we can figure out how it works, we might be able to find a way to undo it."

"We don't have time for freaking  _experiments_ , Cas!"

"Do you have a better idea?" He shot back irritably. "And  _I_ will be the one conducting any experiments, I must have some natural resistance to its power, you don't. You are not to go near that fruit, do you understand?"

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on it."

"Good."

"Great." Dean put in, giving up on the 'get left foot free' plan. "So, can I go to the bathroom?" he asked, it wasn't completely a ploy to get free, he had been unconscious for a while and he hadn't exactly stopped to take a leak in Asmodeus' place.

"No." Sam and Cas said together.

"Well I'm not peeing in a bottle!" Dean said. "And if I pee myself, one of you is going to have to clean me up and if you're planning on keeping me here for much longer then you're also gonna have to deal with-"

"-Alright," Sam said quickly, looking nauseated, "I'll take you to the bathroom."

"Mighty kind of you, Sammy." Dean snarked.

"Give me minute." Sam said, leaving with a pointed look at Cas.  _Watch him_.

Dean growled low in his throat, more out of annoyance than actual anger but Cas glared at him anyway, not pausing in his pacing.

"Cas, come on. I knew Sam wouldn't get it, but you? I thought you'd understand."

"I do understand." Cas said, his voice eerily steady, "I understand that you are under the influence of an unknown power. I understand that what these hallucinations are telling you makes sense to you. I understand that you are more than willing to throw your life away in almost any given situation as it is, and that Alastair and your father are giving you the perfect excuse."

"It's not an excuse, Cas, it's a reason. You have to admit I'm bad news to everyone around me. You and Sam haven't exactly been happy here. This isn't the life either of you want, I'm not blind. Basically all we do is stumble from one colossal screw-up to another, dropping bodies along the way. I'm the only one who's actually crazy enough to need it. Sam wants out, he's wanted out for a long time, hell, he never really wanted  _in,_ and you-"

"-Don't tell me what I want." Cas interrupted smoothly.

"Whatever." Dean said. "I'm not wrong."

"Yes, you are," Cas replied, "but I don't think you're fully able to consider that possibility at the moment so I won't waste my time trying to convince you."

 _Ass-wipe_. Dean prayed at him, he didn't react.

"But just so you know," Cas said conversationally, "you were in that world that Jack showed me."

Dean blinked. "I was?"

"I wouldn't have been even remotely convinced if you weren't."

Dean felt a flush creep up his neck. Cas smiled sardonically.

"I know you don't believe it," he continued, "but the fate of the world does not hinge on your life. You might be important, Dean, but not so much that you can corrupt humanity simply by not dying."

"They'll break me." Dean said in a small voice. "When they come back. I don't wanna become them. You know what they could do."

"What can they possibly do to you that they haven't already done?" Cas asked. "Your father raised you to throw yourself into danger and to do  _anything_  to protect your brother as though your life was worth less than his and you remained unbroken. It took Alastair  _thirty years_  despite his best efforts and yet you came out of Hell and did not give in to the darkness that he put there. Dean, for better or worse, they are a part of you. They have influenced your behaviour and shaped the man that you are, but they are not the only parts of you. You are more than what your father wanted you to be. You are more than what Alastair made you do. You are Dean Winchester and I will not have it said of you that you got taken down by a damn fruit, so Sam and I will find a way to fix this. And if they come back, and they try to tear you apart, know this," Cas dropped to kneel before Dean, taking him by surprise, and cupped his chin in his hands, "you are stronger than they ever were, and they are wrong about you."

Dean said nothing, trying his best to avoid the angel's eyes. Cas let his hands fall but kept the blazing heat of his gaze on him. Dean felt himself beginning to shake. He was uncomfortable with the conviction in those words, they conflicted too strongly with his own beliefs, what he  _knew_  to be true. His dream came back to him sharply, dead eyes in the water.

"Right." Sam said, walking in, "we can- is everything alright?"

"Yes, it's fine." Cas said, standing gracefully. "Do you want me to untie him?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam said. "Those knots are going to be a bitch."

"You didn't bring a knife, seriously?" Dean said as Cas bent again to pick at the knot on his left ankle with his fingernails.

"You think we're gonna let you anywhere near sharp objects right now?" Sam shot back.

The rope fell from Dean's foot and Cas turned to the other. He contemplated kneeing the angel in the face the second it was free but realised that they had been smart in undoing his feet first. He wouldn't get very far without arm movement and they knew it. Cas then moved around to his wrists, albeit a little more warily and Sam tensed from where he stood nearby, but Cas' fingers were deft and gentle as they moved his wrists into position for him to better be able to access the knot. He thought about making a run for it, but with Cas' angel reflexes and Sam standing guard he knew he wouldn't be able to get up the stairs and out the door, and Sam knew about that gun under the table so chances were it wasn't there anymore. Best he stay quiet until he got a proper chance. So when the ropes were pulled away and Cas gripped him by the elbow to help him up and Sam stepped forward to take him by the other elbow, he said nothing and let it happen.

"I've got him." Sam said to Cas.

"Yeah, dude, I mean, I don't really need a crowd watching me when I pee."

"It's not your urination I'd be watching for." Cas grumbled, but he hung back as Sam escorted him out… to the bathroom in Sam's room. Damn.

"What's wrong with my bathroom?"

"I found thirty-six weapons while cleaning your place out, Dean.  _Thirty-six_. And I'm not entirely sure I found them all. So you can piss here."

"How many knives did you find?" He asked, curious.

"Twenty-two, some gold, some silver, some bronze, mostly steel."

"Hah, you missed three."

"No-one needs that many knives in their room, Dean. You know we have an armoury downstairs, right? Why not store some of them there?"

"You never know." Dean said sagely, "It's best to be prepared."

"Yeah, you crossed the line between prepared and paranoid with the hex bags I found taped to the back of your wardrobe."

"Hey, those things are useful."

Right." Sam pushed him into the bathroom. "Hurry it up. Five minutes and I'm coming in, I don't care what you're doing."

"Gross, Sam."

"Go pee."

Dean rolled his eyes and shut the door. He made to lock it too but  _someone_  had been at the thing with a screwdriver and taken the lock.

"Really, Sam?"

"I don't trust you right now, Dean. I'm just trying to keep you alive." Sam called through the door.

"Whatever."

Dean quickly took care of business and then started to search the place, but short of drowning himself in the toilet, there really wasn't much to work with. Sam had emptied the cupboards, no pills, no razor, no dental floss, nothing, he'd even taken the mirror and the shower curtain. Well… his brother certainly took suicide watch very seriously.

As humiliating as it was he was actually kind of touched.

 _All this to keep us apart_ , Alastair tutted, making Dean flinch as fingers trailed over his shoulder, hot breath on the back of his neck.  _Your brother's a bit of a buzzkill, we should do something about that._

Dean's skin went cold as he flushed the toilet and washed his hands (minus the soap in case he tried to choke on it or something) and yanked on the door to see Sam leaning against the doorframe.

"Back to the chair? He asked, resigned.

Sam nodded, "Back to the chair."

 

***

 

"Alright," Dean said, when he was once more trussed up like a freaking turkey. "They're back, or at least Alastair is so whatever you're gonna do, you don't have long to get it done." He took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, "I'll hold 'em off for as long as I can but I don't think it's  _me_  they want me to kill anymore." He glanced up at the two of them sheepishly, just in time to see them exchange a heavy look. "So if they win-"

 _When we win_ , Alastair purred.

"- _if_  they win," Dean repeated with determined emphasis, "then it's game over for me."

Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean kept talking.

"If that happens, you've gotta take me out. Please, I'm begging you. Don't make me watch you die, don't give me the chance to kill you. You're the only two people that stand a chance. Don't argue with me on this. Go. Do what you gotta do."

"You shouldn't be alone." Cas said, immediately stepping forward.

"I won't be alone. That's kinda the problem." Dean quipped, then he sobered. "Go."

They went, reluctantly but they went. They had barely left the room, debating in low voices the pros and cons of separating the fruit into pieces and trying different spells or studies on them to see which, if any, had an effect they could gain some knowledge from, when a hand fell heavily onto his shoulder. He flinched.

 _What? No sappy speech?_  John asked,  _You not going to tell them how much you care about them? That you're proud of them? That they gave your life its only meaning?_

"They already know." Dean muttered.

 _That'd be sweet if it wasn't so sickening._  John mused,  _I thought you were a hunter, boy. I thought you and your brother were the wildcards, making up your own rules, building a legacy._ That's _something I could be proud of. Instead, you cower behind the trenchcoat of a creature that could obliterate you because you convinced it that it cares for you. I mean, that's some stellar manipulation you pulled, Dean. Do you just whore yourself out to any powerful thing that tells you it can protect you?_

 _I'd disagree with him,_ Alastair put in,  _but… well, I can't really, can I?_  His fingertips trailed over Dean's thigh. Dean began to shake in his restraints. It was too much, Alastair pawing at him while John's grip was like steel on his shoulder. They were supposed to be two separate compartments in his mind, they were never supposed to mix; it was curdling his brain, humiliating and painful.

 _And look how pretty you are, all tied up like this,_ Alastair purred,  _we'll have to fix that of course, but it's a shame. I would like to be able to enjoy this._

 _Your choices have consequences, Dean._  John said grimly,  _I sold my soul for you. I could have shot that yellow-eyed son of a bitch in the hospital but I held off because of you. Maybe I shouldn't have. Sam would have been better off for it. If you hadn't broken the first seal, all of the others would remain intact too._

_But you came to me, and I broke you. I finished the job your daddy started._

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it, but there was no clearing it. These two phantoms were going to tear him apart from the inside out, re-forge him into something terrible.

_You were always the weak link. At least Sam had the balls to fight for what he wanted but you never did, did you? You just rolled over._

_You took it like a good little boy._  Alastair continued,  _aren't you tired of being a good little boy, Dean?_

 _I could show you how to use your skills._  John offered, his grip tightening on Dean's shoulder.  _I could help you get rid of that demon scum you've been carting around in your head all these years. Hasn't he taken enough from you? Your resolve, your goddamn dignity? You might not have been strong, Dean but you used to believe in what you were doing. He took that from you, him and that feathered freak._

 _Cas_. The prayer was automatic, born of instinct that kicked in when he was afraid and needed backup. John let out a soft chuckle.

 _Yeah, that's the on_ _e,_  He said,  _the two of you are bound together but who's holding the leash?_

 _Oh, you've never really been one for control, have you?_ Alastair taunted,  _you've always liked the unpredictable, just pure reaction. I taught you the value of control, didn't I, Dean? I made you to_ crave _it._ His nails raked down Dean's forearm, hard enough to draw blood,  _I can give you control back. I can free you from your father. You wanted so badly to be like him that you followed in his footsteps all the way down to Hell. He never trusted you to make your own decisions, your own plans, he never cared what you wanted. It was always only ever about Sam. You can be free of both of them. I promise._

Dean was barely listening, he stared down at the scarlet lines in horror. It was one thing for him to  _feel_  the touch of the dead, it was quite another to  _see_  it. These weren't ghosts he could salt and burn, they were supposed to be in his head,  _only_  in his head. But if they could leave scratches…

 _Tell me if this is real,_ he prayed,  _Cas, please, I need to know if you can see this too. Can they really make me bleed?_

 _We can do more than that,_ Alastair assured him, biting down on Dean's ear, hard,  _I'm gonna make you_ scream _._

 _Boy,_  John's voice was cold, the way he remembered it being when he had made a particularly dumbass decision, like the time in Wichita when he had hesitated and almost gotten his face clawed off by a changeling child, and the hand not on his shoulder found a rough hold of his chin instead.  _You still have a lot to learn._

Suddenly, the bunker around him melted away, revealing dangling rusty hooks, seemingly attached to nothing, bloody chunks of flesh clinging to the tips. Dean was hit by a smell of sulphur so strong that it made him gag, and a visceral fear that sent spikes of adrenaline coursing through him. He was still restrained, though his restraints were different. He no longer felt like he was bound to a chair by well-tied rope, instead, his feet dangled uselessly and hooks dug into the meat of his shoulder, piercing through him. Dean yelled in shock and pain as Alastair materialised in front of him, fingering the dull edge of a long, curved blade, spotted with rust. Dean trembled where he hung.

 _Cas, get me out of here._ He prayed, desperate and scared,  _I can't go back, I can't._

John stepped out from behind where the demon smirked, he pulled a cart behind him, full of Alastair's favourite tools, things that Dean still had nightmares about. Dean whimpered and tried to twist away but he only succeeded in tearing his shoulders further.

"Well," John said, his tone almost conversational, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not too pleased about the location either. But it has to be here, Dean. You'll understand when it's over."

"Why are you helping him?" Dean asked, his voice small, the voice of a child afraid of his father, "Dad, don't do this."

"Son, you've forgotten so much since I passed; you've befriended werewolves, made nice with vampires and witches,  _helped_  demons, you call an angel your best friend. This world that you're supposed to protect people from? It's consuming you. Look at where you are! You never really got out, did you, Dean? In the back of your mind, this is where you go to. This place has been following you around like a bad smell, like that angel."

"I take offence at that." Alastair said calmly, turning to the tray and inspecting a particularly large scalpel, weighing it in his hand against the blade he already held. "Hell doesn't  _follow_ , it waits.  _We_  wait. You're not a survivor, Dean, you've always been here. In every mouldy motel room, in that old leather jacket, in the look in daddy's eye when he came back drunk or injured. You always had to be something for him, didn't you? Nurse, soldier, babysitter, weapon; but it was never quite enough to make him love you." Alastair replaced the scalpel on the tray and skilfully flipped the rusted blade with a flick of his wrist, the smile of the vessel pulled too wide, revealing hints of the creature beneath.

"I'm going to carve him from your soul, Dean. Him and Sam, they're only holding you back."

"No." Dean choked out.

"Don't you think he makes you weak?"

"The angel is what makes him weak," John said, choosing his own tool from the tray, "they need to be separated."

"I wonder what you'll look like." Alastair mused, trailing the rusty blade against the skin of Dean's neck, just hard enough to leave a shallow cut. "without your attachments weighing you down."

"Please." Dean breathed. He was afraid, he was so afraid, Alastair wanted to destroy John and Sam, John wanted to destroy Alastair and Cas, which would leave him with nothing at all. He didn't understand, didn't they see that they were working against each other? That if they kept going, they would both be carved from him? Could he simply wait it out? Endure whatever they had and leave them to their war?

"You can try." John said, standing a few steps back with his arms crossed, watching as Alastair circled him, inspecting him, calculating his best move, Dean's body thrummed with tension, he remembered this trick, Alastair would make him wait for it, in a constant state of anticipation until he almost began to crave the inevitable pain. "But we're building up to that, you'll break long before that happens."

"What do you want from me?"

This wasn't supposed to be happening, they were just supposed to be old ideas, they shouldn't be able to take his family from him, they shouldn't be able to hang him up in Hell.

"Honestly? I've missed the sound of your screaming." Alastair said, then, after another moment's consideration he plunged the blade deep into Dean's kidney. Dean yelled and struggled but the hooks held him fast. Alastair twisted the blade a few times before withdrawing it, Dean let out a strangled sob. He couldn't do this again. He wasn't capable, he just didn't know how. He knew one thing for certain, he wouldn't last another thirty years.

 _Help me,_ he cried into his mind,  _please._

"I don't think he can hear you." John stepped forward as Alastair retreated, wiping a finger through the blood on his blade and inspecting it gleefully before licking it clean.

John held a long funnel, he took the end of it and, grabbing tightly to Dean's jaw, forced it down his throat. Dean choked and jerked away from the intrusion, his body trying to reject the foreign object but John held him fast, the tube scraping the sides of his throat. He gagged, his stomach threatened to rebel and unbidden tears sprang to his eyes.

_Castiel, help me._

"I  _know_  he can't hear you." John said as Alastair passed him a bottle. John contemplated it for a moment. "How many prayers have you given to him, Dean? How filthy have you become that you actually feel  _connected_  to that creature?" He shook his head, disappointed, "This might help clean you out." He tipped the bottle over the funnel and Dean could only watch in terror as the liquid slid down the tube directly into his throat. It burned like acid. His throat closed around the tube, trying to force out a scream but he could only gurgle pathetically. He couldn't breathe, his chest burned, whatever that liquid was felt like it was melting his insides, reducing them to pools of blood and tissue. He convulsed while John kept pouring, a look of regret and resolute determination on his face that almost hurt more than whatever Dean was being forced to ingest.

"Better than whiskey, right?" John said after a few moments, dropping the empty bottle which vanished into the ether of Hell, "I can make you pure again, Dean. Angels aren't pure, they aren't _human_ , and that one is a danger to you and to Sam. You can't trust him, you know that already, you know what he's done. Why else do you push him away? You can come back from this, Son. You can be a hunter again, go back to the family business and take care of that angel. I can remove every trace that he ever existed." John slowly pulled the tube out, Dean choked, thick blood welling up his throat, his eyes streaming, when the tube was removed, Dean's body heaved and he vomited up the bloody mess of his insides before he could draw in a ragged, sobbing breath. He was vaguely aware that those were probably vital organs that he shouldn't still be alive, but this was Hell, and Hell never cared about things like that. John's hand was gentle but firm on his cheek and Dean raised his head to look at his father. "And I will."

John's eyes flicked to Dean's left shoulder, the place where Castiel had first laid a hand on him to pull him from Hell, to save him, or so he had thought. Instead he had been risen for another purpose, to become a meat suit for Michael, to stop the apocalypse.

"Do you know what that mark is?" John asked him, as though Dean was physically capable of answering. "It's seared into your soul. It's  _his_  mark. It doesn't show up the same on human skin, it was never a handprint, Dean, it's a claim. He  _branded_  you like cattle. That brand needs to be removed before you can do what needs to be done."

"Dad, stop. Please." Dean rasped.

"Have you never wondered why, whenever you were given the opportunity to kill him, you hesitated? It's because of that mark, Dean. It stops you from making the right choice."

"Dad-"

"What you feel for him isn't  _real_ , Son. It's never been real."

"I-" Dean retched again, bringing up more blood. Was John right? Cas himself had called the handprint a claim, a brand. And he  _had_  forgiven the angel more than he would have anyone else. But no, Cas had done a hell of a lot for him too, it's not as though their friendship didn't go both ways.

"He's playing you," John murmured, "twisting your mind."

"No."

"You don't see it right now." John said, a softness in his tone that Dean remembered from his last words, the one time John had told him he was proud. "That's okay, you will."

"Speaking of twisting minds," Alastair put in, John turned to look at him, Dean barely had the energy to turn his head. "I've always admired your work, John. Truly. From the moment I tied him to my rack I could see how damaged he already was. You did well, brainwashing him so completely to look out for his brother, disregarding himself. No matter how hard I tried, not once in those forty years could I get Dean to truly regret his decision to sell his soul. Do you know how  _hard_  that is? Most souls that come to me are cursing everyone they ever loved within a few days, even without my extra… efforts. But you made something truly special in him." Alastair met Dean's eyes then and the look in them chilled Dean to the bone. There wasn't hatred or anger or even bloodlust in those eyes, there was a simple curiosity, and something akin to  _pride_. Dean almost threw up again.

"I'm going to make him kill his brother." Alastair said slowly, not taking his eyes off Dean's. "Just to see what he does next."

"I won't hurt them."

"No?" Alastair asked, a condescending smirk in his voice, "You've been hurting them as long as you've known them, Dean. Maybe a more permanent separation will be good for you, finally make you realise just what you're capable of without that brother trying to preach morality at you."

"Without that angel warping your thoughts."

"You can't make me."

"Boy," John said, reaching for the tray, his fingers casting over the various instruments before landing on a hacksaw, "It wasn't a goddamn suggestion."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there you have it. A somewhat coherent explanation for what's been happening, I hope.
> 
> And another cliffhanger... sorry! I'll try not to keep you waiting too long for the next chapter.
> 
> (Also, because I have to say it somewhere. Funeralia right? How freaking AMAZING was that episode?)
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So it's been a while, sorry about that.
> 
> I'm actually pretty proud of parts of this one. I'm excited to see what you think.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

It wasn't long before he was screaming. Alastair crooned praise at the noise while John just scoffed at his weakness.

John handled the hacksaw almost tentatively. He never went too deep with his cuts, hewing through to the muscle but not the bone beneath. Once he had finished, Dean had jagged bits of skin and thicker flesh dangling from his torso, his arms, his back and his cheek but when John stepped back, he looked perturbed.

"This won't work. I can't find it."

"Find what?" Alastair asked, stepping forward with the scalpel he had previously discarded; there was no curiosity in the question, it was almost like he asked just because he wanted Dean to hear the answer.

"His soul. I need to get to his soul. It's tainted by that winged mistake." John rubbed at his jaw in frustration.

Alastair calmly slid the scalpel into one of the new openings John had just made in his chest and twisted, drawing a long, strained scream from Dean's lips.

"You won't reach the soul like that, John." Alastair said, as though he were  _teaching_ , the same way he had taught Dean, explained to him what he was doing, why it hurt so bad, what would make it  _worse_ … "You have to go deeper." He flicked the scalpel against a nerve and Dean let out a broken sob. "You will have to carve into your son, right down to his core if you want to find that."

John said nothing. Dean squinted up at him, almost hopeful. There was conflict in his dark eyes as he stared down at his son. Dean didn't speak, although he couldn't help a whimper as Alastair worked the scalpel further into muscle; he knew his father's stubbornness, anything he said to try and sway him would only make him lean the other way, so he just held his eyes, knowing how pathetic he must look, how torn up and beaten down. He had never been the son John had wanted, no matter how hard he had tried to be. Over the years since John's death he had realised that it was the trying that had been his fatal error, John never could stand a suck-up.

John looked at him for a long moment and Dean tried not to shake, tried not to break the eye contact. After a few seconds, Alastair withdrew the scalpel slowly and Dean couldn't help the moan of pain. John's eyes hardened with resolve and he stepped forward, dismissing the hooks holding him up with a wave of his hand. Dean stumbled but before he could find his balance, John grabbed his arm and forced it behind him, he did the same with the other arm, quick as a snake, and jerked down so that Dean fell into a seated position although there was no chair to break his fall. Restraints sprung up to bind his wrists and ankles, thin iron chains that rubbed painfully against his skin.

John took hold of the left sleeve of Dean's flannel and ripped it off easily, tossing it aside, then he snatched up a skinning knife and, without hesitation, slid it expertly into the joint of his shoulder and began to work at peeling the skin from his arm. Dean screamed, a sound that was half-pain, half-betrayal, although he knew he probably shouldn't be surprised. John was on a mission, and nothing had ever distracted John from a mission. Cold air hit the muscle and fat as the layer of skin was pulled away, it was excruciating, like sensory overload but all of the senses were pain.

Dean wished he could black out; the righteous steel of John's expression and Alastair's smirk from where he watched as he toyed with the bloody scalpel was as humiliating as listening to his own screams. His pain shouldn't be a goddamn spectator sport, Alastair shouldn't be watching while his own father stripped the skin from his shoulder in some warped belief that he was  _helping_  him by removing the angel influence. At least Alastair just wanted to hurt him. John didn't even want that, John wanted to  _fix_ him, as though he was fundamentally wrong, as though he could be made right if enough of him was removed.  
Hot tears spilled from his eyes that had little to do with the agony of his arm. Why hadn't he ever been good enough? All he'd ever wanted growing up was for John to think he was good enough, but every choice he had made since shooting Azazel had pulled him further and further away from John's approval. It had been easier to ignore when John wasn't there, it had been easier to pretend that he had stopped thinking about it entirely, that he had stopped caring, but underneath his anger at the man, his resentment for how he had been raised, the rationale that John had been wrong to treat him like he had, was a five-year-old boy who remembered how easily his dad used to smile at him and wanted more than anything to feel that same warmth again.

Dean sagged back in his restraints, hopeless, helpless, weak. He felt so defeated. No one was coming for him. He was going to stay down here, in Hell, until they tortured him into madness, back into the demon he still wasn't entirely convinced he was cured from, or something even worse. He remembered trying to take an axe to Sam's skull, to feeling a violent, all-consuming  _hatred_  for the angel as it held him, trying to reason with him, trying to  _help._

"He's not helping you now." John said, his voice steady, even as he cut away the part of his son that had once been marked by a handprint. Tugging at the last strand of skin to sever it from him completely, John held up the almost perfectly intact sheet. Inspecting it in disgust before tossing it aside where it vanished. "I don't know if that purged you any, Son, but it can't hurt to try."

"Actually it does really freaking hurt." Dean snapped, the only defence he had left.

"Drop the attitude, boy." John said, letting go of the knife and kneeling in front of his son, taking his face in his hands and staring straight into his eyes, "This is for your own damn good. You and that angel… it's wrong. You were never good for anything other than taking care of your brother, and that used to be enough for you,  _he_  changed that; he's given you all these notions that you're actually worth a damn off your own back, but you're not, Dean. You're not."

Dean let out a strangled sob, his chest tightened at the conviction in John's eyes. There was no room for error, John was  _right_.

"You've always been a tool, Dean," Alastair put in, "A fun little toy to play with, to use until you're all used up and worn out and broken. Everyone around you knows it. They're all just waiting for you to run out of juice. So if you're going to be used anyway, wouldn't you rather it be for something  _great_?"

The rough hands on his face were demanding and harsh, not like the gentle touch of what felt like a lifetime ago. Cas' words from before echoed at the edges of his memory at the shadow of that touch.

" _You are stronger than they ever were, and they are wrong about you."_

Dean's anger took hold of him then, his resentment and his pain and all of his freaking fear tangled in a ball of directionless fury. "Screw you!" He spat, his voice cracking. "Screw both of you. You won't make me hurt them, I won't let you."

" _Let_  me?" John's voice turned to ice. "Last I checked, you don't  _let_  me do anything. I do what's best, it's not my fault if you're too stubborn to see that. The angel has to die by your hand or you'll never be rid of his influence."

"Like I'm rid of yours? Of  _his_?" Dean jerked his chin in the direction of Alastair, shaking off John's hand in the process, "don't you freaking touch me. You gave up the right to tell me what was best when you told me I might have to kill Sam. You put that crap on me, still think you're a good father?"

"Oh, I've missed your fire." Alastair said, amusement. "Torturing loses its lustre when all you do is cry."

"Oh you'll see my goddamn fire." Dean growled, feeling it rage within him, an unchecked inferno. "You'll see it when I burn every last freaking trace of you from my mind."

Alastair grinned and raised his hands to clap slowly.

"Oh Dean, you're adorable. I'm almost scared."

Dean glared at him.

"But purging your own mind leaves you practically lobotomised, doesn't it? Doesn't that rather defeat the purpose of fighting?"

Dean said nothing, straining hard on the chains on his wrists, the metal dug into his skin and it tugged painfully at his already ruined arm but still he struggled, gritting his teeth. The blood helped his wrists become slick enough to move around and find a better position to pull. His jaw clenched with the effort of it, fuelled by Alastair's self-satisfied face, by John's patronising pity, by everything they had put him through, alive and dead, everything they had whispered to him, everything they tried to make him believe. He fought for Sam and for Cas because it went against who _he_ was to kill them for whatever goddamn power trip his tormentors had in mind.

Unbelievably, the chains snapped. Reaching down to rip the restraints from his feet, Dean sprang forward into John, who was closest, with a roar. He felt a split second of satisfaction at the surprise on his face before John flipped them, slamming his head against the ground. Dazed, Dean shook himself and yelled in pain as John's hand dug into the raw, exposed muscle of his arm. Dean managed to get his other hand free and land it in John's jaw. John barely reacted but the blow echoed down his arm, into his very soul and he hesitated; he had never hit John before. Nonetheless, he did it again, and again, until John's grip loosened enough for Dean to be able to kick him off. Scrambling to his feet on shaky legs, he barely made it two steps before Alastair was on him, pressing him against a wall that wasn't there, their bodies flush.

"It's alright, Dean." he whispered, his slick voice sliding down Dean's spine. "I've got you."

Nipping at the back of his neck, Alastair chuckled. Dean trembled, memories shot through his mind, too fast to see them all but he felt each one intimately, the shame was overpowering. He bucked but Alastair only pressed into him harder.

"No!"

Dean twisted and slammed his knee up. Impossibly, Alastair actually grunted and let go, doubling up. Dean shoved him away and he fell backwards to the ground.

"You don't  _ever_  get to touch me again, you sick son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, following him down, connecting his fist to that smug, vile face until his knuckles cracked, "You're dead! You're dead and I am not your freaking whore anymore!"

"Dean," John's voice cut through the air, "stop. We're just trying to help you."

" _Help_  me?" Dean climbed off Alastair who lay there, groaning, "You're  _killing_  me, Dad! Why do you hate me so much, huh? All I ever wanted was for you to be proud me. And sure, I screwed up. I couldn't protect Sam like I should have and I know you always loved him better and that's fine. But I'm your  _son_. I should matter too. I shouldn't have been bait for a changeling when I was eight. I shouldn't have known how to set my own broken arm by the time I was ten because you wouldn't take me to the hospital. I shouldn't have had to starve myself because a hunt took longer than you thought and you didn't leave enough money for both of us to get fed. I shouldn't have had to put you to bed when you were drunk and throwing punches, I shouldn't have had to make up stories to Sam about where those bruises came from."

Dean took a shuddering breath that was half a sob, swiping impatiently at the tears on his face, but he wasn't done. He advanced towards John who had his hand out but didn't back down.

"I shouldn't have had to have been the one to tell Sam that Santa isn't real but monsters are. You know, that Christmas I didn't have to try and make Sam believe in Santa, I had to try and make him believe in  _you_ , because you weren't there! So you have lost the right to preach  _family_  at me. You can't tell me that Cas is just trying to use me to fight his war because that's  _you._ " He swallowed hard. "Cas is different, we have something that isn't built on fear or duty, it's built on choice so of  _course_ you don't understand, but that doesn't make it wrong. And I know he's not human, he's not blood. But family doesn't have to be blood, and blood- blood doesn't have to be family."

The words left him breathless. A weight that he hadn't even known was there lifted, a weight that had been crushing him for as long as he could remember. He stared at his father and for the first time, he felt no fear, he felt no anger, he felt no drive to impress or please; for the first time, he didn't care what John Winchester thought of him and he was relieved. His lips actually twitched upwards at the revelation.

"So you can skin me and you can force bleach down my throat and you can use your saws and your freaking melon-ballers and that twisted bastard can take what's left and screw it. You can take me apart piece by piece but you will not touch them. You can't carve Cas from me. And you-" he threw a filthy look to Alastair who still lay on the floor like he was actually  _injured_ , "you can't make me hurt my brother."

Alastair began to laugh then, blood bubbling up from his lips. Dean tensed, spinning to face the demon, fists clenching once more, tension singing through him.

"I just did." Alastair choked out around his chilling laugh.

Dean's blood ran cold, like the way Hell began to run, like water poured over the top of the canvas of a still wet painting, Hell bled into the bunker war room, the chair he had been tied to on its side, bloodstained rope pooled around it. There was a red smear where he had hit his head on the hard tiles. Cas stood where John had been, hand out, and Sam…

"Sam!" Dean rushed to his brother's side. Sam moaned and spluttered up thick blood from his throat. His cheekbone was broken, a large purple bruise already forming, blood dripped from his nose and one of his eyes was swollen shut. "Oh God, Sammy."

Dean's hands cast over his brother's body, looking for any worse damage. He had done this, he had beaten his brother to a bloody pulp.

"Dean, let me." Cas knelt next to him, a hand going to Sam's forehead. A moment later, Sam's wounds closed, the swelling went down, the blood disappeared and Sam sat up, staring at Dean.

Dean didn't move. It wasn't the injuries that had worried him, Chuck knew Sam had had worse, but the fact that  _he_ had caused them while lost in his own head. Alastair had won, again. He stared down at his own hands, his right was broken, the wrists bloody and raw from breaking the rope.

"Here." Cas said kindly, reaching for him too but Dean shied away, he didn't deserve to be healed. He backed away from Sam too, using the wall to push himself to his feet. He was shaking all over. Those things he had yelled, had they been out loud? The look on Sam's face certainly suggested so, gaping at him in horror and the way Cas followed him with his eyes, seeing  _through_  him the way he always did, with that calm understanding that made him want to punch a wall.

"Is it over?" He asked, half-dreading the answer, "did you fix it?"

Sam and Cas exchanged a look and Sam shifted his weight so he was sat up more fully.

"Uh- no," he said, shaking off his haunted look and plastering over it with one of concern, "but we found something and we were coming to tell you when we heard you-"

"-Tell me what?" Dean interrupted.

Sam swallowed, glancing at Cas again, "Dean, don't you think we should-"

"Tell me what, Sam?" He couldn't look at his brother, his voice was hoarse.

"It seems I was right about exchange." Cas said slowly, rising to his feet and helping Sam stand too. "The fruit responds to multiple stimuli but only in pairs. If I fed it some grace, for example, it would do nothing until I concentrated my thoughts, then it would give me a vision surrounding that concept until either I lost focus or cut off my grace. It takes from one stimuli to strengthen the other. Seeing as you have no grace, I think we can rule that out as a universal power source. The hallucination was stronger the more emotionally invested I was in the thoughts I focused on," He took a few steps forward but halted when Dean backed away again, "which explains why yours are so… vivid."

Dean scoffed at that, looking towards Sam and feeling the guilt clog in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"How do I make it stop?"

"I don't know, Dean." Cas said, his voice pained at the admission. "Angels clearly have more control and more resistance to its effects, on you it's different. It appears to be linked to emotion, it's likely that before you hear  _them_ you feel a stronger emotion, brought on by a thought linked to one of the ideas the fruit resurrected perhaps. Does that fit with your experience?"

Dean cast his mind back before nodding slowly, meeting Cas' eye. Yes, every time he had heard the voices had been during some kind of emotional spike.

"We'll fix it, Dean," Sam assured him, "we will."

"Don't worry, I've got a permanent fix." Dean said, setting his jaw.

Cas frowned, "What are you-"

"I told you," Dean said, his voice perfectly calm, "before you went to Frankenstein that fruit I told you what you had to do if I turned bad. Well guess what? I turned bad. I almost killed you, both of you." His eyes flicked between them before landing on Sam. "You have to kill me, or at least give me a freaking gun and let me do it myself."

"That's not happening." Sam said immediately. "Dean, you didn't go bad. We heard what you were saying, you were  _fighting_ them because you didn't want to hurt us."

"Yeah," Dean said, trying not to think about everything else they had heard, "and I smashed your freaking skull in, Sam."

"That wasn't your fault!"

"Really?" Dean held up his broken hand, "Sure feels like my fault."

"We're  _not_  killing you," Sam said, adamant, "don't be ridiculous. You think after all this we can just give up on you? You think  _I_  can give up on you? We're going to figure this out."

"No, Sam, you won't. And that's not a dig, alright? I'm just saying, this thing doesn't seem to have a solution. I can't fight them without hurting you. They can make me see and hear and feel whatever they want me to see and hear and feel."

"Stop talking about them like they're  _real_!" Sam yelled, fear and worry in his tone. "They're not real, Dean. It's not really Alastair and it's not really Dad. They don't  _want_  anything, they're just part of your mind, made from your worst thoughts, and that means-"

"That  _means_ ," Dean cut his brother off, "that there's a part of me, a small, broken part of me that wants the two of you dead."

"I don't believe that," Sam said without hesitation, "not for a second. You don't want us dead, you're afraid of killing us."

"Look what I just did!" Dean roared, gesturing around the room at the toppled chair and spatters of blood. "It's some pretty damning evidence, Sam. If I already believe everything that they're telling me, then what the hell does that make me, huh?"

"Strong." Cas said quietly, taking a step forward, "It makes you strong. Because you fought  _back_. Against those ideas and those beliefs that have been a part of you for a very long time. It shows how far you've come, how much you've changed, that you even tried to fight them, that you could even consider the possibility that you are worth fighting for."

There was actual  _pride_  in his face as he said it, staring at Dean as though he'd done something remarkable, something important.

"Well that's just great, so I've grown as a person; it didn't stop me from turning on you, it won't stop this happening again, but you know what will? A goddamn bullet. I gave you your chance and look what happened. I'm done. This is over, I'm ending it." He turned away, towards the corridor to the rest of the bunker, to his room and the armoury. He'd almost hoped, almost thought he had a chance, he thought he'd actually  _done_ something. But turns out the only thing he'd done was pummel his brother into near unconsciousness. If Cas hadn't been there to heal him he'd probably still be on the ground.

"Cas." Sam said quickly.

Dean turned to see Cas raise his arm towards Dean.

"Cas, I swear to your deadbeat father if you're not going to smite me then-"

Cas' fingers touched his temple but instead of falling asleep, a warmth spread through him; his wrists stopped throbbing, the lump on his head was gone, even the phantom pain on his shoulder had vanished and, without looking, he knew that his hand was no longer broken. Cas dropped his arm.

"Don't ask it of me." Cas breathed, holding Dean's eyes, it was barely a whisper, a desperate plea. "Because if you ask it of me, I will."

Dean almost asked, he actually opened his mouth to ask, his throat formed around the words, but the tremble of Cas' voice, the aguish in his eyes, the way he stared at Dean like they were the only two people on the planet, like he was something rare and precious and powerful and so, so distant, made him falter. He dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, a breath punching out of him in defeat. He knew how Cas felt although he couldn't say  _he_ would feel the same way if the situation were reversed. He wouldn't be nearly so strong, he wouldn't have the stomach to do what Cas had just offered to do.

He felt a sudden, solid resolve to exhaust every other possible avenue before he asked the question because he knew that Sam and Cas would destroy themselves with guilt if he did anything else.

"Fine." Dean said quietly, then louder, so Sam could hear him, "Fine. You win. But you gotta lock me up or something and you can't come near me unless you can be sure I'm in my right mind. That sound fair to the both of you?"

He stared them down defiantly. Cas gave a single nod that somehow managed to convey all of his gratitude and relief.

"That's fair," Sam said, striding forward and pulling his brother into a hug, "thank you, Dean."

"I'm so going to regret this." He said in a weak attempt at humour, but he returned the hug all the same. When he pulled back Sam's face was conflicted, he was worrying at his bottom lip and his brow was furrowed.

"What?" Dean asked,

"That stuff you said before," Sam said cautiously, "about Dad. Was it… I mean, did he really…?" Sam's question faded out at whatever he saw in Dean's face. He nodded, looking torn and angry and disappointed of all things, and he turned away. Dean let him, swallowing hard. He didn't say anything. He'd said enough.

"Come on." Cas said gently, "I guess you can pick what room you can stay in, though I will clean it out of all weapons… just in case." He shifted guiltily at that.

"Yeah," Dean said, tearing his eyes away from his brother who had bent to pick up the fallen chair which allowed his hair to fall forward, hiding his face, "yeah, that's smart."

He fell into step beside the angel.

"Uh… my room, I guess." Dean said, "I'll tell you where the rest of the knives and stuff are."

"And the bottles."

"What? Come on, Cas."

"Glass in your hands can be deadly, Dean Winchester." Cas scolded, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Dean grumbled.

"So what am I going to do if I can't drink?"

"You'll have your laptop." Cas said, "I'd take the charger, but honestly, if I was trying to keep you away from  _anything_  that you could use as a weapon I'd have to throw you into the Empty. Surely the entirety of the internet can keep you amused for at least a few hours."

"A few hours? You're pretty optimistic there, buddy." Dean said, nudging him good-naturedly with his elbow. Then he sobered as they stopped outside the door to his room. "Seriously though, Cas, how long is this going to take? To tell the truth, I don't know if I can go through that again. I'm out of ammo and another reunion session like that… I just don't know how long I can hold out." His hand went to his own left shoulder almost automatically. Cas' eyes tracked the movement and he frowned.

"I wish I had an answer." He said, staring down the corridor, a distant look in his eyes, "I wish I could tell you that I even know where to start. All I've managed to do so far is confirm a theory that doesn't help you in any way. I don't know how you can break a connection like that; the only thing I can think of is to either find a way to restore what was taken from you or we try and get it to stop… giving, cut off its power source from either direction but it's not so tangible as that and it's not like I can try reasoning with the thing, it's not sentient."

He broke himself off and took a deep breath, apparently out of habit. Dean watched as the angel gathered himself and met his eyes again.

"For what it's worth, I'd give anything not to have you go through this."

Dean's jaw clenched at the memory of those words.

"It's worth a lot more than it was then, I can tell you that much." He said.

Cas' mouth twisted in a humourless smile.

"I should hope so."

They held each other's eyes for a moment before Dean broke and looked away first, turning to open the door to his room, which he held open for Cas.

"Sam got most of 'em already," Dean said, stepping aside to let him in, "but there are a couple of places I'm pretty sure he didn't think to check. So feel free to poke around but-" he raised his eyebrows as Cas made a beeline for his vinyl, flipping through the records and pulling out an old The Who album, tipping it on its side and letting the switchblade fall into his palm.

"These are the only songs you don't know all the words to when they come on the radio." Cas said, looking almost apologetic as he spoke, "which means you don't listen to it much on your own, which means you probably don't really care if the record gets scratched." Cas peered into the cardboard casing and frowned, confused. "It's empty."

"I broke it when I was nineteen." Dean explained, "I was mad at Dad for something and it was one of his favourites. I never did get into The Who as much but it's not like we had much chance to play the damn things anyway so I figured Dad wouldn't find out if I kept the cover."

Cas nodded, a slight quirk to his lips.

"I gotta say, I'm impressed, Cas." Dean said as Cas pocketed the switchblade. "It took you less than a minute to figure out there was something in my vinyl."

"I've wondered about it for a while." Cas admitted, "I wasn't sure it would be a weapon but I figured it was a good place to start."

"Oh, I get it, you just wanted to go poking through my stuff." Dean teased. "What if it had been porn?"

Cas raised an eyebrow, "Dean, you have an entire laptop that you dedicate to watching porn," he said, gesturing to the spare computer poking out from under his bed, "a fact that you have never felt the need to hide. Why would you bother hiding a magazine or two?"

"Point." Dean said, crossing his arms. He wasn't embarrassed exactly that Cas knew so much about his porn habits, like the guy said, he'd never exactly been shy about talking about it, but his face felt hot all the same.

They spent the next few minutes in a companionable silence while searching for the weapons Sam hadn't found. Dean worked his way through the various hiding places methodically, more often than not finding them empty, while Cas took to searching his cupboards and drawers for beer bottles. He tried to confiscate Dean's hip flask too but Dean put his foot down, saying that it wasn't glass, nor was it a weapon. He also insisted on filling it up from one of the bottles of scotch before Cas dropped them all unceremoniously into a trash bag.

Dean huffed at the waste but figured he could always get more once this thing was over, hell, maybe he'd even splurge of a middle-shelf bottle to celebrate.

When they'd scoured every inch of his room and Cas was satisfied that there was nothing more to be found, Dean flopped down onto the bed and looked around. He'd spent the better part of the last few weeks wishing to be alone but now he was going to be locked in his own room, he found that he would much rather have the company. The prospect of waiting around for John and Alastair to return without Sam and Cas to distract him was allowing the fear to seep back into his skin.

"Hey, you wanna watch a movie?" Dean asked without thinking. Cas looked at him sharply, then his expression softened at Dean's expression, he probably looked as desperate as he felt.

"I would like that." Cas said gently, "but I don't think it would be helpful given the situation."

Dean shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, "I guess not."

"I could go and ask Sam if he-"

"-No." Dean said quickly, "no, that's okay." Considering the way Sam had reacted to the ugly things he had yelled at what he thought was his father, he really didn't think the guy would be up for being trapped in the same room at him for long. "It was dumb to ask, you should both stay away from me. Safety first, right?"

Cas' tongued darted out to wet his lips.

"He'll be alright," He said, "he just… he'll need some time."

"Yeah." Dean said, a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Dean," Cas waited until Dean raised his gaze from the floor, "It's not your fault."

Dean's jaw clenched and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself, which didn't work. "He wasn't supposed to know," he said after a moment, "about any of it. I never wanted him to find out."

"You didn't mean to tell him."

"Oh, and that makes it better?" Dean said, throwing his arms into the air, "Instead of an actual conversation, he found out because I was screaming it at a delusion of my father? Yeah, that's great, that's exactly the right way for him to learn that Dad wasn't always the hero I made him out to be."

"I think he already knew that, Dean."

Dean shook his head, "It's different."

"I know."

"Sam already hated how we were brought up," Dean said in a small voice, "and I just destroyed whatever good memories he still had. But Dad wasn't a monster, he was never  _evil_ , he was just… lost. And that doesn't mean he was right, because he piled crap on me that I didn't know how to deal with, and he doted on Sam but I doubt he even knew his favourite colour. But dammit the man  _tried_  and Sammy'll never forgive him and he doesn't deserve that, not from Sam."

"I don't think it's really up to you to decide what your father deserves from Sam." Cas said slowly. "Sam is able to make that decision on his own."

Dean was silent for a moment, allowing the words to sink into his brain. He turned them over thoughtfully. Maybe Cas had a point, he didn't have the right to decide how Sam felt about this. All he could do was be there if Sam wanted to talk, properly talk. Once all this crap was over, when his mind could be trusted again, when Sam had actually had a chance to process it. He hoped he made it through this thing, if only to give Sam that conversation.

Cas seemed to sense his calming mind and shifted slightly, drawing Dean's attention.

"I should go," he said, "I should get back to analysing the fruit."

"Right." Dean said, trying to hide his disappointment and his irrational fear at being left on his own, "Yeah, you should get on that. Let me know if you find anything."

"I will." Cas said solemnly. "Pray to me if you need anything, or if they start to come back."

"Right, 'cause that worked so well last time." Dean muttered bitterly.

Cas froze on his way to the door,

"Excuse me?"

"Nothin', I'm just being a dick."

"What did you say?" Cas demanded in a tone that Dean didn't think was strictly necessary.

"I just meant, you didn't exactly come running before, when I was praying to you. I mean, I don't blame you, I don't think I was making much sense and it's not like it ended well when you  _did_  show up, I just-"

"You prayed to me?" Cas repeated, sounding disturbed.

Dean frowned, "Yeah, didn't you-?"

"No." Said Cas shortly, "I didn't hear you."

"Oh." Dean said, taken-aback at Cas' tone. He sounded like something vital had been ripped from him. "Well, it's fine, you were probably just concentrating on-"

"No." Cas repeated, "When you pray to me, I hear you. I  _always_  hear you. It doesn't even have to be a direct prayer, I should have  _felt_ that you needed me."

"That's a thing?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head, "With you, yes."

"What does that mean?"

Cas shook his head, distracted and began pacing. Dean wondered when that had become a habit, the guy used to be so still.

"Sam usually has to pray to me directly or his emotions need to be incredibly strong for me to sense them, it's always been easier with you, but that's not really important right now."

"Is it because of that brand you put on my soul?" Dean asked, his voice shaking, that gave Cas pause, either the tone of his voice or the idea itself, though when he turned he looked past Dean rather than at him, his eyes unfocused.

"Perhaps." He said, "I never really questioned it. Dean, do you know what this  _means_?"

"Yeah, it means you have the freaking wi-fi password to my brain!" Dean said, flustered and irritable.

"Not that," Cas said dismissively, he stopped pacing and crouched down so they were at eye level. "I haven't been feeling that much from you lately, at first I thought that my powers were fading, I thought I'd finally lost my connection to Heaven, but I could still heal, my senses were still heightened so then I thought  _our_  connection was fading, that you were succeeding in pulling away from me."

Cas looked so grieved at the words that Dean wanted to reach out to him, he wanted to tell Cas that fully-powered angel or not he was still the bravest guy he knew, still a powerful fighter, still the best friend he had ever had. His hands shook where they rested on the bed but he didn't raise them, he didn't dare.

"But what if that isn't the reason either?" Cas continued, oblivious to Dean's inner turmoil, "I should still be able to hear a direct prayer, and I  _could_  when Sam prayed to me to warn me to knock you out, so if I can't hear you then it isn't a fault with  _me_."

He sounded so relieved that Dean didn't even have the heart to be hurt, not with the hope kindling in the angel's eyes,

"What if  _that's_  what the fruit took? Your connection to the divine."

"Whoa, hold up." Dean said, hating the way Cas' face fell ever so slightly at his protest, "You healed me just now, and my hand when I cut it on that piece of glass, and you said you weren't getting  _much_  from me, not nothing. You still knew when I was having a bad dream, you can still knock me out. So I can't be  _that_  disconnected, can I?"

Cas hesitated, his teeth scraping over his lower lip. Dean could practically hear his mind working overdrive, he couldn't help the way his lips twitched upwards slightly.

"All of those things," Cas said, "they're superficial. I healed your body, yes, but I couldn't, I  _can't_  sense anything deeper, even though I know that there is something wrong. Your dreams are a manifestation of your subconscious, of your deeper thoughts and I could not touch them, I couldn't soothe them away although normally my presence is enough to do that. I can affect your state of consciousness but that is a physical reaction. None of those things would connect you to divinity any more than a glass of water is connected to the ocean."

The look in his eyes changed then for a moment and Dean shifted uncomfortably as Cas' gaze deepened, then there was a brief spike of pain and profound sorrow in the blue before he blinked and it was gone, replaced by something almost completely business-like.

"I can't see your soul." He said, by way of an explanation, "I didn't think to look before or I would have realised sooner. This is it, Dean, I'm right, this is what was taken."

"Oh, so your X-ray vision goes screwy and now I'm no longer… what? Connected to the upstairs? I dunno, Cas, looking at my soul doesn't really seem… divine or whatever."

"You wouldn't know." Cas said, a reverence in his voice that made Dean's face feel warm, "Looking at a human's soul is to see them, to truly see them, the essence of who they are. For an angel to be blocked from that… It shouldn't happen, it  _doesn't_  happen, not naturally. Especially because we're bonded."

"You don't have to make it sound so gross." Dean said, glancing away.

"Gross?" Cas repeated with a humourless laugh, "Yes, I- I suppose I used to think so too."

"You did?"

"Yes." Cas said, a far-away look on his face, "It was thought of as degrading. How humiliating it must be to tether yourself to one, fleeting human for the rest of eternity, to bond with something so far below yourself, even to embrace mortality, it was… it was a revolting idea. It went against what Heaven stands for, angels were not supposed to get involved with humanity, we were to guard it from afar to avoid corruption, to avoid falling…" he trailed off for a moment before shaking his head. "When I claimed your soul, I did it out of necessity, Hell couldn't hold you if you belonged to Heaven. It was supposed to be a sacrifice on my part. My orders were to save the Righteous Man; failure was not an option so I bonded you, and the others in my garrison pitied me for what I had done."

"I'm sorry." Dean said.

Cas' eyes focused then, looking surprised, then he smiled, it was a small smile but warm and genuine and Dean felt something twitch in his chest at the sight.

"Don't be." Cas said, reaching up to place his hand on Dean's cheek. The touch was intimate, his thumb delicately tracing the circles under his eyes, it was something that Dean normally would have pulled away from, but he didn't move. "I'm not. What they saw as adhesive turned out to be my liberation."

"Right." Dean said, uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken, and with the look of awe in Cas' eyes. "So you said we could stop this thing if I can get back what the fruit took; well, how can I do that? It's not like I ever  _let_  you look at my soul before, or sense what I was feeling or whatever, you could just do all that stuff. I can't tune in to angel radio or reconnect with any of that celestial crap and my prayers aren't going through anyway so- so how do I fix it?" He paused then, " _Can_ I fix it?"

He hated the way his voice came out, so afraid and pathetic. Cas looked at him for a long moment and Dean felt whatever vestiges of hope he'd managed to hold on to shrivel into nothing.

"I don't know," Cas admitted, then his expression hardened and he stood fluidly, striding to the door, "but perhaps  _I_  can."

"Where are you going?" Dean called, he didn't like that look on Cas' face, the one that promised trouble.

"To test something." Cas answered, "I'll seal you in, just in case."

"Wait-" but the door was already shut and Dean was alone.

 _Not quite,_  whispered a sly voice,  _we're not done with you yet._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... *anxiously bites nails* worth the wait? What do you think?
> 
> All feedback is welcome and worshipped.
> 
> At the moment I'm thinking I need one more chapter to wrap this story up so I'll try not to keep you waiting for too long.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So I know it's been a long time since my last update but this chapter is extra long to make up for it.
> 
> I've got this whole week off work and although I've spent most of it with my family for a much-needed break, I will now have way more time to write (until Monday) and hopefully get this finished (yeah, this isn't the last chapter like I thought it was going to be xD).
> 
> I'm hoping this is at least somewhat coherent, I seem to have lost the thread of this story slightly so I may have to come back to it later on.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

There was no preamble this time, no seductive lead in to the rack, he just blinked and there he was with John and Alastair to greet him. They resumed their work immediately, even keeping the talking to a minimum for now, although Alastair still laughed delightedly whenever Dean made a particularly pleasing sound.

All of Dean's big words and powerful speeches had been for nothing. Alastair could still touch himand John could still hurt him; still determined to remove whatever impression of the angel he could conceive of. His arm had been flayed once more and blood dripped from his fingers onto the floor, blood that wasn't real, a floor he couldn't see, obscured once more by the hooks and illusions that was Hell.

Dean didn't fight them, there was no point, he couldn't stop them any more than he could convince himself that the pain wasn't real; he knew it but he screamed anyway. In a way, he felt even more defeated than he had the first time around; at least then he'd had anger to carry him through. Now he had nothing; his resentment was gone, his trauma miles all used up in his last outburst, he had nothing left stored away that he could compress into fury so Sam had learned his most carefully guarded secrets for no reason. Dean sagged in his hallucinatory restraints while Alastair chose his next weapon. He seemed to be trying to work through all of the tools on the tray and then some, occasionally fixing Dean up when parts of him got too ragged or the nerves too scorched to even feel anything anymore, after all, for Alastair, pain was the point.

John didn't care so much about that. He was more careful, more hesitant about cutting into Dean haphazardly. Every tool he selected was with a specific purpose in mind and he related his logic to Dean each time, as though justifying it made it hurt less.

Even his jabs at Dean's weakness, something he'd thought his explosion had dulled, still sent spikes of nausea through him, accompanied by shame. He was supposed to be over this, was he really so fragile that he backslid almost immediately into his old habits? He had been so sure of himself but now he just felt drained; he had hurt his brother and now Cas was off doing Chuck knew what trying to save him, he deserved whatever these two could dish out.

"You're being very quiet, Dean." Alastair observed as he began ripping at a few gashes on his torso to open up the cavity with his bare hands. Dean yelled, squirming and twisting reflexively as his flesh tore and something that was probably very necessary spilled to the floor, it might have been his intestines, it certainly smelled like his intestines. He gagged as Alastair chuckled. "Not even an insult?"

John made a disgusted noise. "All out of bluster, Dean?" he taunted, "That's not like you. Where's the defiance? Where's the pretence?"

"What, you expect me to joke as you turn me into a goddamn Tellytubby?" Dean shot out, but his voice wavered, lacking any true bite. "Either you want me to shut up and take it or you want me to fight back, I just can't win with you people."

John bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "You're still my boy, Dean." He said in a softer voice, and damn but if that didn't twist at Dean's gut, you know, if he still  _had_  a gut, "I'm only doing this because I care about you."

"I'm just in it for the fun." Alastair put in, "I have missed my favourite toy." One of his blood-soaked hands slid down to Dean's thigh, leaving a trail of red.

Dean twitched in revulsion but did nothing else, what was the point? John however, shoved Alastair away roughly and perched in front of Dean on an invisible stool with a file in his hand and peered into the cavity of his torso. He opened Dean up the rest of the way with a few strokes of a knife and then picked up a file and began to scrape at his ribs while Alastair scowled petulantly.

"What are you-?" Dean gasped.

"You still have that Enochian on your ribs, Dean," John explained as he worked, "hiding you from angels. Normally, I'd let you keep it, it  _is_  a protective measure." He grimaced, "If it were put there by any other angel, I would but do you know what it even  _says?_  Did you ever think to translate it? Or check to see if yours and Sam's were the same? Of course not, because it works, and you don't question what works, do you?"

Dean said nothing but a curse as the file touched his very marrow. He let his head fall backwards, trying not to let the words get to him but powerless to stop it. No, he had never bothered to get a full translation of his ribs and he'd lost the X-ray long ago. The sigils had kept angels from catching them with their pants down so it had never really crossed his mind to pry further. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that John didn't know any more than he did, John was just spouting an idea thought he must've had once and forgotten about, it didn't mean anything, but trying to shake off an idea was like trying to uproot a fully grown oak tree with nothing but his hands; he could dig all he wanted but the only thing he'd get was dirty.

Alastair, apparently feeling left out, walked around John to press himself against Dean's back, acrid breath in his ear, the stench of sulphur in his nostrils; almost gently, he slid his own knife through the skin right next to his spine and began to saw downwards.

"What are you doing?" John asked irritably as filed. Dean could hear the frown in his father's voice. His own face was screwed up in agony and he was grinding his teeth to stubbs, trying to hold on to the reality he knew was out there. He was on the bed in his room, he was safe, he wasn't in pain, he-

"Gaaah!" He yelled when Alastair let out a contented sigh as he met resistance from what may have been an organ and pressed through it.

"I just want to show our boy how empty he is," Alastair crooned, "hollow him out and show him the nothing inside. Who knows? You might even get to the soul you want so bad."

"No."

Revulsion so strong that he wanted to vomit lodged in his throat. It was a fear that crawled up from the depths, an instinct he'd never been aware of, never needed to be aware of. To protect his soul. In the same way that he knew it was a death sentence to face down a wendigo with a toothpick, he knew that if these two found his soul, they could truly break him. What was that thing Cas had said?

" _Looking at a human's soul is to see them, to truly see them, the essence of who they are."_

Right. His soul was  _him_. His body was just his body, and these… delusions couldn't touch that, not really, his arm wasn't really skinned, his organs were still intact; he could  _feel_  it but it wasn't real, but his soul? Could they touch that? Could they twist that into something unrecognisable, like Alastair had once before? Cas had denied that Alastair had succeeded in that; Dean had asked him once, years ago, after a hard night of drinking, how bad of a shape his soul had been in when he'd found it in the pit, how broken was he, truly?

 

***

 

" _Have you ever heard of kintsugi?" Cas asked after a moment, extending his arm towards Dean to nudge the precariously placed bottle of whiskey more fully onto the table._

 _Dean shook his head, the question already slipping from his mind which was swimming with alcohol and the thoughts that accompanied it, whoever said drinking made him feel_ better _? Well… he did for one, although at that precise moment he could not fathom why._

" _It's a Japanese form of art. Broken pottery is repaired with a lacquer that has been mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum."_

" _Alright Casipedia. You know, this sounds more like Sam's thing." Dean slurred. He seized the whiskey that Cas had tried to save and, forgoing the attempt to pour some into the shot glass at his elbow, took a swig straight from the bottle. He hissed at the burn, ah, that was why; those few seconds of heat when he could feel something other than caged._

" _The results can be quite beautiful." Cas continued, seemingly heedless of Dean's waning interest. "The contrast in colour highlights the imperfections, the precious metal displays the scars of the piece and they become a map of its journey. And all those who doubt that those fragments will ever be of worth are forced to reconsider."_

_Dean frowned at the angel, his sluggish brain aware that there was significance in Cas' words but unable to make it out. Cas smiled fondly at whatever expression Dean's face was making and gently extracted the bottle from his grasp._

" _I think you've had enough." He said._

 

***

 

Dean let out a pitiful whimper as Alastair's blade notched his spine. With John still filing his ribs and the hooks in his shoulders ripping at him with every twitch, the added aggravation made him feel like a Cola bottle with a barely tightened lid that had just been shaken by a sugar-fevered toddler. Alastair tapped the blade against the bone thoughtfully, making Dean flinch.

"Should I cut through this?" Alastair mused. "I don't mind the extra work but It'd be a sight if this was the only thing holding his pelvis up. Hmmm."

John gave a non-committal grunt and Dean said nothing. What was the point? Alastair would do whatever he wanted, he always did.

"I think I'll leave it for now." Alastair decided, guiding the knife around to begin stripping the skin from his spine instead. Dean's right hand clenched and unclenched uselessly, his left spasmed on reflex but even that small movement sent agony up the nerves; his breath came in pants, which was strange because he really couldn't be certain that he still had lungs. He nursed the small spark of comfort that it was just his body. He didn't need to worry until they found his soul. They couldn't  _change_  him unless they found that. He could endure the rest until Cas got back, he could, he-

"Aaand… done." John said, blowing the loose bone dust off his ribs with harsh, concentrated breaths and Dean whimpered at the sensation, the icy hint adding an extra piercing quality to the pain. "It's not a permanent fix but…" He stood, shrugging, "if it gets that feathered freak a little further away from you then it's worth it, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, brushing his hands on his trousers and tossing the file back onto the tray where it landed with a harsh clang that made Dean's head ring.

 

 _Dean_. The voice was hurried and and sharp but it brought with it a heavy calm that seeped into his very core.

"Dammit." John cursed, snatching up what looked like a small trowel and turning back to his son, "Enough messing around, we need to find it, now."

Alastair gave a weary sigh and flicked his wrist, causing the entire section of meat on the left side of Dean's lumbar vertebrae to fall with a wet splat before it vanished.

Dean's body heaved of its own accord, despite the physical impossibility, and he let out a low sound that was half a moan, which became a choked scream when John dug the trowel into the flesh of his pelvis, gouging out a chunk of bloody meat and tossing it aside. Alastair chuckled softly and reached up under his ribs, scooping out more raw handfuls of muscle, allowing them to drop into the endlessly hungry landfill of Hell. Dean shook and cried and yelled, he felt phantom hands ghosting along him, touching skin that had long since been peeled from him, pressing against muscle that was no longer there.

 _Sam!_  The voice called now, frantic, _Sam!_  The fear spiked in Dean too and he howled as John and Alastair excavated him like a damn mine, digging through his matter, his meat, his very being.

_Dean, I can fix this, I can make it stop. Just stay still, please._

Still? He was pretty damn well skewered on the hooks. Besides, it wasn't like he could go anywhere, though vague images stirred at the back of his mind; a stone floor, fabric tangled around him, a flash of blue and black but it was gone in an instant and he remained on the rack.

They seemed determined to hollow him out completely, each bloody glob of flesh discarded without a thought. He almost laughed at that; it was suddenly, inexplicably hilarious that he was being scrapped, piece by painful piece, by the very thoughts that clung to him so desperately. There had to be a joke in there somewhere.

_Sam, hold him down!_

_Cas, are you sure? I mean, you said you didn't know how much-_

_-It'll work. Hold him still._

"Now here's something pretty." Alastair said, jolting Dean out of his delusion. "John, you're going to want to see this."

John glanced up and froze, he dropped the trowel and stood, staring at whatever Alastair was indicating.

"His soul."

"Practically dripping with angel juice," Alastair said passively, "and barely worth torturing. I remember making a few of these.  _That_  one was particularly fun to carve. Quite a few scars were already there though, your doing mostly, but a lot of these are new. I wonder…" Alastair jabbed at something and Dean jerked and whimpered in response. It felt like grief, a grief so strong that he half-forgot who he was.

"I thought souls were supposed to be pure." John said warily, "It looks like it's been put in a blender."

Alastair shrugged. "It's a hard existence. Do you want it or not? This one was definitely made by the angel. But leave  _that_  one be, it's mine."

"Please, don't." Dean's voice was fractured, even to his own hearing, unfiltered terror bubbling within him. "Dad, please don't change me."

"I thought you wanted to change, Dean." John said, meeting his eye, "I thought you wanted to be like me. You used to try so hard; it was cute until you got too old for it, then it was just sad. You never developed a personality of you own, did you? Whoever you think you are is just cobbled together from people you met along the way. You've got my temper, you've got Bobby's stubbornness... Tell me, Dean, what is there to change? I just want you to be able to go back to protecting Sam, to focusing on your family. And maybe that doesn't include me, like you said in your little speech, I don't care so much about that, but the angel is not your family, he's a distraction, and he's gotten under your skin. Who would you choose now? If you could only save one of them, which would you choose?"

"Sammy." Dean said immediately, even as something akin to guilt tore through him.

_I'm here, Dean, I've got you, please just… stop fighting us._

"See," John said, "I'm not convinced anymore. I think, if you were put in that position, you'd actually hesitate. And that just won't do."

John turned to the tray to select his knife.

"It's my  _soul_." Dean begged, "You don't know me anymore, Dad, I  _am_  someone now. That doesn't mean I wouldn't still do anything for Sammy, it just means, maybe I've got other things to stick around for too."

"Like the angel?"

"Yes." Dean admitted, though it felt like a wrench to get the words out. "Like Cas. Don't rip him out. He belongs there, please."

_They have his soul. I have to do this now._

_Cas, you said it could-_

_I can't do nothing while Dean tears his own soul apart!_

"What does it matter if he's in there or not?" Alastair whispered, "He's going to leave you eventually anyway, he always does."

Dean felt a cold finger trace something deep inside him, evoking a painful disappointment and a sudden image of Cas' back leaving the bunker, off to follow one of his leads alone.

"You have so many scars caused by his leaving, Dean. And his death."

Dean cried out; he saw Cas, slumped over in a plush armchair, blood pouring from his stomach, Cas, deathly pale, black goo oozing from his mouth, Cas, walking into a river, arms out in acceptance, Cas lying cold on a table, wrapped in white cloth.

"Stop."

_This might hurt, Dean._

Alastair laughed. John turned back towards them, a gleam of silver in his hand. It looked like an angel blade but it was shorter, with a wicked edge, more like a dagger.

"Give me the soul." He said to Alastair, his face unwavering.

"Dad, please."

Dean gasped as he felt something sharp and uncomfortably warm in the cavity where his chest should be, it wasn't a hurt he recognised but it felt so familiar…

"Save yourself the pain." Alastair purred, "Let him go, before he makes another scar."

"Shut up."

"He's deep in there, you know?" Alastair continued conversationally. "Right in your core. It's interesting. I wonder how much John will have to remove before he's all gone."

"Don't touch me."

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

"You actually believe that he cares for you." John said, his tone almost curious. "Well, who knew you were so gullible?"

"I didn't exactly have to take it on faith." Dean choked, anything to distract himself from the burning in his chest, the burning that was only becoming more intense, piercing, a stoked inferno, but it wasn't like his anger had been before, this was sharper, more focused, and building.

John hummed thoughtfully. "Okay," he said, the point of the blade tapping against his own chin, seeming oblivious to the way that his son was slowly being consumed by invisible flames. "Let's say you're right. Let's say, somehow, that he found something worth caring about in you. It still won't be enough to keep him around. What exactly has caring about you gotten him, aside from dead? Don't you think he's smarter than that?"

"I know what you want, Dean." Alastair said, moving around into Dean's eyeline once more, cradling something that glowed dimly in both hands. "I can feel it. Here." He caressed the thing he was holding with a single finger and Dean felt relief and another warmth flood into him, comforting and safe and precious as he picked up the phone and heard Cas' low rumble for the first time in weeks, a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Here."

Cas glanced at him knowingly from across a café table, pulling him up short by calling him a role model. His eyes said they meant it. Dean blushed and looked away, shoving fries into his mouth; no way was he going to let Cas see how much that meant to him, though the bastard probably did anyway.

"And here."

Cas shot him a sly look outside of a motel. Dean had prayed to him only moments before, desperate and scared and Cas had shown up and given him the answer he'd needed, an act that verged on disobedience, that threatened his own position, his own  _life_ , and what were the Winchesters to this creature but a nuisance? Yet he had helped, and Dean had almost choked on his gratitude.

"Yes, I think that was where it really started to kick in, don't you?"

"Where what started?" Dean tried to growl, but it came out almost a whine. The heat in his chest was like a supernova and he gritted his teeth against the pressure.

Alastair smirked, "It wasn't just the angel who fell, was it?"

Dean froze, which was kind of hard to do when your insides were on fire.

"You're talking crap."

"Am I?" Alastair said with a smirk, though it didn't sound like a question.

"You see why I have to do this, Son?" John asked slowly, taking Dean's soul from Alastair and positioning it in his arms so it rested in the crook of his elbow like a newborn. "You're not thinking clearly. You can't separate between what you feel and what you know is right. You've always struggled with that, Dean, it's gotten you into trouble more than once."

"No," Dean moaned, "you don't understand."

"Don't I?"

John flipped the blade in his hand so he could lay a finger against Dean's soul. Dean cried out as memories were pulled up before his eyes; Cas throwing his hand away in Purgatory, Cas on a park bench talking about his own doubt, Cas staring up at him over the still smoking body of a demon, not knowing who he was but knowing he wasn't a stranger, Cas on the floor below him, bloody and pleading, not for his own life but for Dean to stop destroying himself, Cas in a cowboy hat, Cas pushing him aside as he advanced on Lucifer, Cas healing him with a touch as he knelt, staring at where his brother had just been. Quiet moments and blazing adventures and soft smiles and reassuring touches. Holding each other back and spurring each other on. John removed his finger suddenly and Dean sagged in his restraints, panting.

"I think I understand perfectly." John said. "I remember that same feeling. The intensity of it, how it can blind you to reality. You've got a lot of walls up, Dean, you won't even admit it will you? Not even to yourself. I wonder why that is."

_How do we know if it's working?_

_I- I don't- I don't think it's enough._

"I know why." Alastair said gleefully, slinking forwards, so close that Dean could smell his acrid breath. "It's because of me. I  _ruined_  you. He can probably smell it on you. Smell  _me_."

"Shut up." Dean squeezed his eyes shut and a few tears leaked from the edges.

"He knows the things we did." Alastair continued. "What makes you think he feels anything for you other than pity and disgust?"

_Hold on, Dean, please. Don't let them change you._

"It doesn't matter," Dean said through a fresh pulse of agony, "better than killing him."

"Ever the martyr." John said, raising the knife.

"NO!"

 

***

 

Then, suddenly he was floating. Hell was gone, as were John and Alastair. He was no longer restrained; Dean looked down, he was whole and unharmed. He pressed himself with his hands anyway to make sure, though the fact that he could even move his left told him it just as much.

Where was he?

He looked around. There was nothing as far as he could see in any direction. He seemed to be suspended in a sky-coloured eternity.

"What the hell?" He whispered.

The burning in his chest was gone, replaced with a warm peace that he didn't entirely trust. Dean frowned and started walking experimentally. He felt like he moved, though with no frame of reference for distance, and no actual solid surface under him, mostly he just felt ridiculous.

If this was what having his soul carved apart felt like, it wasn't so bad. He only hoped he wasn't on a rampage back at the bunker. Maybe they'd already ganked him and this was limbo. It certainly wasn't Heaven or Hell and it wasn't the dark box of nothing that Cas had described as the Empty. Although it  _was_  a box of nothing.

_Dean._

Dean spun a full 360, searching for the source of that voice.

"Cas?" He called back awkwardly. "What's going on?"

_Did they get to your soul?_

"What?"

_Your hallucinations, did they harm your soul?_

"Er… I don't think so." Dean said, thinking back, "But it was real close, man. They had it and they were about to…" he stopped, "But, I mean, I still feel like me so I... I guess I'm okay."

Dean felt more than heard the relieved sigh that seemed to surround him.

"Where are you? And where the hell am I?"

_You're in my grace._

"What?"

_Well… more like a pocket of my grace. I'm overloading your body with it. I thought that if we could make it seem like you were still connected to the divine then the fruit's power would be negated._

"Smart." Dean said. "So – uh – how long is this gonna take?"

 _I don't know._ Cas' voice sounded strained,  _It's taking a lot of my grace, I don't know how much more it will need to break the connection._

"Whoa, whoa, are you saying you're draining yourself for this?" Dean asked, panic shooting through him like a bullet.

_It's the only way._

"Bullshit, Cas."

_Oh, because being tortured inside your own mind was working so well?_

Dean's mouth slammed shut. Then, because he had nothing else to do, he broke into a run, if he could find a way out-

_Please stop that. It's… it's very uncomfortable._

Dean slammed on the brakes.

"Sorry. What can I do?"

 _Nothing,_  Cas replied firmly, though his voice flickered like bad cell reception,  _I've almost got it, just… just let me-_

He cut off.

"Cas? Cas!" Dean yelled, anxious.

There was no response.

 

***

 

Dean jolted upright and his head collided with something equally hard.

"Ow!" Cried two voices at once.

Dean blinked, rubbing his forehead and his vision focused to see Sam doing the same. Then, his brother broke into a relieved laugh and lunged forward to hug him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Dean said, feeling woozy and surprised, "Yeah, I think so." He was on the floor in his room, the bedsheets wrapped around him. He must've been flailing pretty badly to get so tangled, he could almost convince himself that it had all been a nightmare, but a nightmare never left him feeling  _better_.

"Not gonna try and kill us, are ya?" Sam asked with a wry smile. "Or yourself?"

"No, Sam, I'm good." And he was. He felt… lighter, like he'd just gotten out of a sauna, released of all of his toxins or whatever. It was easier to breathe somehow and as good as that felt, it kind of scared him too.

Sam's smile lit up the room.

"Good. That's good."

"Where's Cas?"

"'M here." Came a low mumble on his right. Dean looked around to see Cas collapsed on the floor next to him, struggling to push himself up on to his elbow.

"Cas? What the hell, are you okay?" Dean said, yanking at the sheets to detangle himself before shuffling over to the angel.

"'M alright," Cas slurred, "took a lotta grace is all. Just need to rest. Did it work? They gone?"

Even half-conscious, Cas still managed to worry about him. Dean smiled, despite himself.

"Yeah, Cas, they're gone." Dean said, and as he said it, he could feel that truth sinking in. "Thank you, both of you, you really helped me out back there."

"Had to." Cas said sleepily, "Had t' save your soul. I like your soul."

Sam snorted and Dean rolled his eyes, amused.

"Yeah, me too bud. Come on, let's get you someplace you can crash." Dean moved himself into a squat so he could grab Cas under one arm. Sam moved to the other side and together they heaved the woozy angel to his feet. Unfortunately, Cas' legs seemed to have gone completely boneless, he sagged between the two of them and Dean was actually getting concerned. Sure, the guy had lost a lot of juice, but should it be affecting him like this? Angels didn't normally need to sleep after all. What if Cas had used up all of his grace in one go? What if he'd become human, could that happen?

"Where to?" Sam asked him. Dean hesitated for a split second before jerking his chin towards his bed.

"Saves us dragging him halfway across the bunker."

Sam nodded and together they manoeuvred Cas onto the memory foam. Cas made an indignant noise and tried to bat them away.

"'M fine."

"Sure you are." Sam said indulgently, removing Cas' shoes and placing them neatly on the floor while Dean retrieved the sheets and draped them over the dozy angel who glared at him blearily.

"I don't feel temperature."

"You're acting like you're drunk." Dean grumbled, tucking the sheets around him anyway. "Should we be worried about this?"

"You're gon' worry anyway." Cas sighed, sounding like a world-weary toddler who needed a nap, "No, 's okay. Lost a lot, dangerous amount, but it replen'shes quick. Need to not use any f' a while. Few hours or so."

"Okay, Cas." Sam said gently, reaching over the bed to pat the angel on the shoulder. "We'll leave you to it. Um… you did real good today. You saved Dean. Thank you."

"Gotta protect his soul." Cas mumbled, burying his head into the pillow and tugging the covers up even further so only his hair stuck out. "It's important. An' I'm in there. He said so."

Dean felt himself reddening, but a sudden pang of painful fondness had his lips softening into a smile.

"Yeah, Cas." He muttered, "You're in there. Sleep well, okay?"

"I don't sleep." Came the muffled response. Dean shook his head and closed the door on his way out, following Sam to the kitchen, where he was immediately handed a beer.

"Hell of a week, huh?" Sam said, taking a seat at the table with a bottle of his own. His eyes were shadowed, his face pinched and troubled, but the relief when he looked at Dean was palpable.

"Yeah." Dean said, popping off the bottle cap and taking a swig. He grimaced at the taste. It wasn't his favourite brand, just something cheap that he could buy in bulk. Maybe he should start being more picky 'cause this stuff tasted like someone had stubbed out a cigarette in it.

Sam fiddled with his own bottle cap, not looking his brother in the eye.

"You okay to talk about it?"

"About Dad, you mean?"

Sam's jaw clenched. "Yeah."

Dean sighed. He'd known this was coming, it was an unavoidable conversation and now was as good a time as any seeing as he was feeling reasonably calm about the whole thing, but he was drained from bouncing back and forth between lucidity and hallucinatory torture and he'd kind of been looking forward to mind-numbing small talk, not that they did that much. "Sam, it really wasn't that bad."

"He  _hit_  you, Dean!" Sam said incredulously, as if he couldn't wrap his head around it. "I mean, I knew he was hard on you but I never thought, never-" Sam broke off, he had that look on his face that usually meant he had a really bad stomach ache.

"Look." Dean said, keeping his tone level and calm, although this really wasn't a topic he had ever imagined discussing with anyone, let alone his little brother. "It's not like the guy used to beat me senseless or anything. He'd just lash out sometimes when he was drunk or pissed off."

"That's no excuse."

"I'm not trying to make excuses for him." Dean said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just saying, he could've been way worse."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked, glancing up. It wasn't accusation in his eyes, not exactly, but it was close.

"You were just a kid, Sam."

"So were you! Dean, how could you  _hide_  that from me?"

"Because you would've tried to do something about it! You would have told somebody or-"

"-Damn right I would have, Dean-"

"-and what would've happened then, Sam? Foster care, that's what. We'd've been taken away and split up and moved to different states and who knows if we ever would've seen each other again, let alone Dad."

"Not a teacher, but Bobby-"

"Why do you think him and Dad argued so much?" Dean said tonelessly.

Sam gaped.

"He knew?"

Dean shrugged. "He suspected, I think." Dean had caught a few grim looks over the years. A particular venom in his eyes when he talked about John and a solidarity with Dean that always felt separate than adopted family.

"So… that time when I ran away…"

Dean pressed his lips together before answering.

"That was the worst he ever got. Can't say I even blame him, we thought you were dead." Dean was pretty sure John had broken a rib or two that night, although Dean hadn't had the time or the inclination to patch himself up properly, Sam had still been missing after all. During those two weeks Sam had stayed gone things had only gotten worse, Dean had actually been afraid for his life, not that that would make Sam feel any better.

Sam looked down into his beer guiltily.

"Dean, I never would've-"

"I know, but you couldn't grow up making decisions like that, too scared to do anything in case it got me in trouble."

Dean's heart wrenched at the conflicted look on Sam's face, like although he knew the logic, he couldn't help but remember every decision he had made growing up that might have had painful consequences for his brother.

"How could I not notice?" Sam asked, his voice suddenly very small. "I watched everything you did, Dean, I wanted to be just like you. How could I not  _notice_?"

"I didn't  _want_  you to notice, Sam." Dean said, trying hard to see the grown man in front of him and not the bratty nine-year-old with steel in his eyes and a rigid sense of morality. "You already yelled at each other about everything under the sun, you really think knowing would've made things easier?"

"Right,  _I_  was the one who always got into it with Dad, I was the one who told him to go screw himself, I was the one who pissed him off. Why didn't he come after me?"

Dean's jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. He had thought the same thing many times. Honestly, he didn't know what he would have done if John had raised a hand to Sam. Instinct said he would have killed him for it, but if he was being truly honest, he doubted he would have done more than scream at him to stop.

"It was never gonna happen." Dean said quietly. "He never wanted you to see that side of him."

"I saw plenty." Sam said bitterly. "I remember how he used to throw lamps around, or rip the TV out the wall. I remember you'd shut me in another room and I'd have to listen to you yelling and he'd throw more stuff… or you, I guess. He still could have come for me, Dean. You know he could."

"He wouldn't." Dean said, an old anxiety uncoiling in his stomach, "Not ever."

"How do you know?"

"Because that's what  _I_  was for!" Dean yelled. He wasn't aware of standing but he was on his feet. "Every time you two'd fight, if he even got  _close_ , if he even looked like he might get within a mile of that point, I'd put an end to it. Why do you think I became such a smartass, huh?"

Dean sat back down heavily and took a pull on his beer. When he looked back at his brother, Sam looked like he might throw up.

"Are you saying," Sam said slowly, his voice shaking, "that you would deliberately say crap to get Dad pissed at you to make sure that  _you_  were his punching bag instead?"

Dean shrugged. "Of course I did. That was the deal."

"The  _deal_?"

"Yes, Sam, the deal." Dean looked away then, his face growing hot, "You prayed, I made deals. I promised God, or whoever, that if they kept Dad from coming near you, I'd make sure I was always there instead."

Sam looked even more crestfallen at that.

"Dude, that is so messed up."

"I know it was stupid, but it worked, okay? And not 'cause of any deal, that just… made it easier, I guess."

"And you never told me." Sam said, "Hell, I never even suspected."

"What good would telling you have done?" Dean asked. "Sam, you have maybe four or five  _good_  memories of the man from all the time you were growing up, I wasn't gonna ruin that. You're stubborn enough to hate him just for this and forget all the good stuff."

"I think the knowledge that he used to whale on my brother kind of overshadows that time we went camping." Sam snapped.

"See, that's what I'm saying, Sam." Dean said, a pleading note in his voice. "Those moments were important. Those moments where who Dad  _was,_ before Mom died, before he became obsessed with hunting, back when he was around for more than a week at a time, when he'd smile just for the hell of it, when he was  _happy_. You never saw him like that, not really."

"Dean, what he did-"

"What, like we've never beaten each other near to death?" Dean said sardonically. "Never taken out our anger on each other."

"That's different and you know it is," Sam argued, "Dad never went through even half the crap we have and we've always had each other's backs when it counted, but where was he when your heart got fried and you were dying? Where the hell was he when we went back to Lawrence and had to face Mom's spirit? Where was he when I started to get powers and was terrified of what I could do? I could almost forgive him for that, I could almost convince myself that he had other important stuff going on, but now I find out that he wasn't just a neglectful deadbeat dad, he was an abusive one too and I didn't even  _know_!"

"Sam-"

"I have every right to be angry at him, Dean!" Sam cried, his voice half a yell, half a sob, "And you've got even  _more_  reason to be. Hell, every time Dad's come up in the past few years you get this look like you wanna punch something but  _now_  you want me to be okay? After what he did to you?"

"I'm tired of being angry, Sam." Dean said heavily, a fog of weariness pressing down on his lungs. "I've been angry for so long but what has it gotten me? The man's dead. He can't hurt me anymore, not unless I let him and I'm done letting him. If this whole thing has taught me anything, it's  _that._  So you can get mad and throw stuff and yell about how unfair it was and how shitty he was and how our lives suck because of him and yeah, I agree. But we've saved people. We've saved the  _world_ , more than once. Now I've got my issues with the guy but Dad taught us how to be able to do that, even if he didn't know it. What he did made me who I am and you know what? I'm really not that bad."

He stumbled over the last few words but met Sam's eyes defiantly, his heart thumping painfully loud but once the words were out of his mouth, he realised that he meant them. Sure, he could be a temperamental, controlling, needy asshole, but he was damn good at his job and he knew Sam inside out, enough to know how to make him feel better if he was down or frustrated, maybe even coax out a smile and really, didn't that make all the rest worth it? At least some of the time.

Sam stared at him for a long moment, a strange look on his face, he was clearly still angry but Dean could hardly blame him for that, it had taken him more than half his life and literally yelling at a hallucination of John to get him here, Sam had had, what? A couple of hours? He was probably still processing. But anger wasn't the only thing in Sam's expression, there was a softness there too, fondness,  _pride_.

"No," Sam said, warmth settling in his eyes, "you're not that bad at all."

Dean's mouth twitched nervously. It was stupid but he almost expected this moment to turn cold, he expected John's voice to tickle at his ear, or Alastair's, telling him how worthless he was, how pathetic, but they didn't. The only voice was Sam's, asking him calm questions that Dean would do his best to answer. He wouldn't lie, but it would probably be kinder for everyone if he spared some of the details, something that he figured Sam would understand.

 

***

 

"Are you going to tell Mom?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean jerked his head up. It had been maybe a couple of hours since they sat down and Dean was exhausted. The talk was needed, he knew that, he owed it to Sam to get everything out in the open, but it was a long talk and it dredged up things that Dean had thought he'd forgotten about that weren't exactly giving him the good kind of nostalgia. Also, as his eyelids got heavier and his brain function began to wane, he found himself flinching at the memory of imagined pain if he brushed his left arm against the chair back, or if his ribs pressed against the table as he slumped forward. But he was ramrod straight and alert now, fixing Sam with a sharp glare.

"No," he said, "and you can't either. It'll kill her, you know that. That man wasn't the John Winchester she married and she's only gonna feel guilty over things she can't fix."

Sam pressed his lips together tightly but nodded, "Alright," he said, "but if she asks?"

"If she asks," Dean repeated with a sigh, "we can deal with it then, but we've gotta get her back first."

"Right." Sam said, visibly shaking himself, "Crap, I'm sorry, I'll bet you just wanna pass out, right? This should've waited until tomorrow, I was just-"

"It's okay, Sam." Dean cut him off with a tired smile, "I think we both kinda needed this. Thanks for making me talk about it. But you're right, I really need to crash."

"Sure." Sam said, standing to clear away the beer bottles that had accumulated while they talked, he looked surprised when he picked up Dean's latest to find it still half-full but said nothing. "Are you gonna take Cas' room or use one of the spares?"

"What?" Dean blinked, bemused.

Sam arched an eyebrow, "Dude, Cas stole your bed."

"Oh yeah," Dean said through a yawn, "I forgot about that."

"Sure you did." Sam said with a wry grin.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

They grinned at each other and Dean felt something shift in the air between them, like for once they were both truly on the same page of the same goddamn book. Dean felt less like a big brother than he ever had, but he had never felt closer to Sam. It wasn't exactly a comfortable feeling, and the change was unexpected and dramatic, but he thought it was healthy. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted it to last.

"Speaking of-" Sam said, a playful gleam in his eye.

"-Nope." Dean interrupted smoothly, levering himself up to standing, "I'm done talking for tonight."

Sam snickered.

Dean left the kitchen and headed back to his room. He needed to pick up his toothbrush and something to change into, his current clothing had been soaked through with sweat and would not be comfortable to sleep in and he was not going to sleep naked in one of the spare beds, he did have  _some_ class after all. He hoped Cas was a heavy sleeper.

 

***

 

Turns out he needn't have worried, Cas was already sitting on the end of the bed lacing up his shoes when Dean cracked open the door. He smiled warmly at Dean when he walked in and Dean couldn't help but smile back. It was good to see physical evidence that Cas was back to normal.

"You all charged up?" Dean asked, edging his way into his own room, as though  _he_ was the one in unfamiliar territory. He often felt that way around Cas, he'd found. Cas adapted easily to any space he occupied. The guy might be awkward and uncomfortable around the  _people_  that were in whatever room he was in but never once had Dean seen him fumble for a light switch.

Cas nodded and if he noticed Dean's awkwardness, he didn't show it.

"Are you alright?"

Dean almost rolled his eyes, of course the first thing out of Cas' mouth would be concern for him.

"I'm tired." Dean said pointedly.

Cas finished the laces with a flourish and stood, "Of course, I'll leave you to sleep."

The shoulder of his trenchcoat brushed Dean's arm as he passed and a familar shock of power sent something intense and bittersweet surging through his blood. He forgot about that power sometimes; Cas was one of their most useful weapons but it had never  _felt_ that way to Dean; sure, Cas was handy in a fight and there was no one other than Sam that he'd rather have at his back but that wasn't for the way that he could smite demons at a touch, or for the tens of thousands of years of hardened battle experience, it was for the way that Cas would insist on healing them after a hunt, the way he never walked past homeless people without checking his pockets for change or some diner leftovers they had taken to go; it was for the way that he  _cared_ , really, truly cared about every person he had so much as glanced at, for the way that he could be more human than him and Sam sometimes, the way that he rarely smiled or laughed but his eyes were never cold. Dean trusted Cas completely; he trusted him with his life, he trusted him with Sam's life, he trusted him to pick up the phone when he called, he trusted him to be there when he was needed, even though he knew, logically, that it wasn't fair of him to expect that, he hated that he had come to expect that. Cas was the best friend Dean had ever had; he certainly knew more about Dean than he was entirely comfortable with. Dean's mind flickered uneasily back to what he had realised in his delusion, what he had been  _made_  to realise.

"Cas?" Dean said before the angel reached the door. Cas turned, his hand on the handle, waiting patiently for Dean to speak, like always.

"Thank you."

"You already said that." Cas said, cutting through his bullshit, like always. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but you were kind of out of it, I just wanted to make sure-"

"You're welcome, Dean." Cas said with a sigh, "Although at this point, thanks aren't necessary."

"At this point?"

"We've saved each other a lot." Cas pointed out, "Are you surprised I would try this time?"

"Not even a little." Dean muttered truthfully.

Cas nodded, seeming satisfied.

"But that doesn't mean I'm happy about you risking your mojo." He continued sternly.

Cas cocked an eyebrow, "I will risk whatever I feel it necessary to risk." He said, voice turning hard, "It is not for you to tell me what I am prepared to lose."

Dean looked away, biting back his retort. He knew it would only result in an argument and he was too tired to fight. He wanted to say that he was just concerned, that Cas had nothing to prove to him or Sam, that they wouldn't think any less of him if he thought about his own damn welfare for once in his life and Dean already worried about the lengths that Cas would go to in order to try and protect them. He didn't want to have to build another pyre, he wasn't sure he could handle that.

"For my part, I'm glad they didn't... I mean, I'm glad you're not..." Cas trailed off as though trying to think of the correct phrasing, Dean could have sworn there was a slight tremor to the hand that was still on the door handle and something dark drifted across Cas' eyes like a thundercloud.

"I'm glad they didn't harm your soul." he finished after a moment.

"Yeah, 'cause you like my soul, right?" Dean teased, dispelling the remnants of their almost-argument. Cas barked out a laugh, his hand falling from the door as he turned to face Dean properly.

"I am very fond of it, yes." He said, meeting Dean's eyes with an intensity that didn't quite match his light tone. "I would appreciate it if you try to keep it the way it is."

"What? Broken?" Dean scoffed, only half-joking; his mood seemed to have decided to crash, probably worn out from his talk with Sam and a few new realisations that he didn't know what to do with.

"Healing." Cas answered, a slight admonishment in his voice. "Your soul isn't broken, Dean, it never was. Scarred, yes, but never beyond repair. And over the past few years you have begun to mend. The wounds will never fully disappear but... it's difficult to explain, it's like you've been stitching them up with gold thread, only it's not gold, it's not even colours really, not in the way that you understand them, it's just  _you_ , the way that you are slowly starting to accept yourself. I- I would very much like for that to continue." Cas dropped his gaze then, pink staining his ears.

Dean gaped at him for what may have been a full minute, his brain stuttering to a halt and something uncomfortable lodging itself in his throat. He cleared it after a moment, unexpectedly touched and overwhelmed.

"Cas-" He said, his voice chipped. "I- er-"

"-You should get some rest." Cas interjected smoothly. "Pray to me if you need anything."

"Will that work?"

Cas frowned, suddenly worried, "It should, your connection to the fruit was severed. Try it now."

"Errr... okay." Dean said, feeling himself turn red. His mind was suddenly scrubbed clean of any thought, even a useless, mundane sentence to send to Cas. But they had to make sure, right? If Cas could hear him then John and Alastair might truly be gone. That thought was as terrifying as it was liberating. But Cas was staring at him expectantly with those concerned eyes and if he couldn't think of anything to send then it would only make Cas realise that Dean might be broken after all and his certainty about the state of his soul would falter and Dean really,  _really_  didn't want to let him down. He  _wanted_  Cas' words to be true, he wanted to believe that he could heal, that he _had_  been healing, that he could truly let go of those parts of his past that he realised had been holding him back for years, invisible shackles that, it turned out, had never been locked in the first place. He felt his heart rate spike, his breathing turned shallow as he fought to string together a few words, hell, even one word that might tell Cas that he hadn't bet his grace on a lame horse.

He was being ridiculous, he should just send something stupid like a picture of an apple pie or one of those dumb knock knock jokes that made Cas' eyes light up with pure, childlike joy. But that didn't feel right, it didn't feel honest, and Dean was too raw from his talk with Sam to be anything but honest right now. He looked at Cas and thought of his voice slicing through his hell-ucinations, reminding him of what was important, that  _he_  was important, if only to his brother and the angel who had begged him not to change.

_Stay._

Cas blinked. "Well, I definitely heard that," he said carefully, "though I'm not sure-"

"I'm sorry for all the crap I said before about only needing your help on cases." Dean said, dropping his gaze to the floor. "It's not true. We need you here, always. And… and I like having you around. And I don't know what crap is gonna happen if we get to Apocalypse world or how we're gonna take down Asmodeus, Michael and Lucifer and I know you've got Jack and I know you wanna work on rebuilding Heaven at some point but… if you want to, if you can, once all this has blown over I'd like you to stay."

Cas' expression softened into something that was almost wistful.

"I'd like that." He said, warm and open. "I wish I could promise that I will."

Dean grunted, meeting the angel's eyes. The stare lasted too long to be casual and it sent sparks of heat flashing in his veins, yet it was as comfortable as an old flannel softened with wear. Suddenly, the thought of pretending not to notice the intensity of those looks and what they meant to him, even if whatever it was defied definition, was unbearable. It deserved to be acknowledged, it deserved to be seen and Cas deserved to  _know_ , even if it turned out Alastair was right after all.

"So, you can't promise forever, I get that." Dean said, not tearing his eyes from Cas' although his brain screamed for him to stopped talking and his nerves tied themselves in knots. "But can you promise me one night?"

Cas frowned. "Of course." He said, "Did I indicate that I planned to go somewhere?"

" _Cas,_ " Dean groaned, almost laughing, because of  _course_  Cas would need him to  _explain_. He tried again, speaking slowly and deliberately, "that's not what I meant. I'm asking if you want to stay with me tonight."

It took a few seconds but the look on Cas' face was almost worth the humiliation of askingthe question. His eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped open for a split-second before he yanked it shut again. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed and Dean was reminded of the first time he had tried to get Cas laid. He remembered thinking that it was kinda sweet, if a little sad, how nervous the guy was, and when Chastity had thrown him out because Cas had tried to comfort her about her father, it had not only been the funniest freaking thing in the world that an honest to God angel had struck out with a prostitute but it had cemented to Dean just how genuinely kind and well-meaning Cas was, and how lost.

"Why?"

Dean was taken-aback by the question, he had pretty much been expecting an outright 'no' and then a few awkward days of avoiding each other before they could pretend like this conversation never took place. He hadn't expected Cas to actually  _think_  about it.

"No reason at all." Dean assured him, his resolve of a few moments before already crumbling. "You shouldn't. Forget it."

"You misunderstand the question." Cas said solemnly, "I wasn't asking why I should stay, I was asking why you wanted me to."

"Oh." Dean said after a moment, his brain whirring like an overheated laptop's fan: making a lot of noise but not much progress. He had no idea how to go about answering that very reasonable question, or rather, he found himself incapable of saying the words; even now, even on the precipice, he just couldn't bring himself to jump.

Cas waited patiently for what may have been several minutes before Dean finally hung his head. Alastair had been right after all, that part of him was ruined, damaged, unclean. Even if he  _could_  force the words out of his throat, Cas deserved better than a half-hearted pick up line at the end of an exhausting day by a guy who just wanted to know what it might feel like if Cas loved him too, if only for a few hours.

"Sorry." He mumbled, averting his eyes, face burning with shame.

"Don't be sorry," Cas said, "be sure." He opened the door, the purer glare of the hallway lights contrasting oddly with the dim, yellow-tinged bulbs in his room, framing his face in a soft golden glow, highlighting the indefinable expression. "Goodnight, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean said, "Night, Cas."

When the door closed, Dean flopped down onto the bed without bothering to turn off the light and hoped that he could do all of his processing of this crappy week while he was unconscious. He wondered if it would be enough to drown out the rest of the day's events, which was worse, watching the remains of whatever fragile respect Sam had had for their father die? Or propositioning the angel who knew exactly what he had done with Alastair?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. What do you think?
> 
> Everything's wrapping up now maybe one more chapter left. I've tried a couple of different things in this one that I hope you felt worked.
> 
> All feedback is cherished and very welcome.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So I know this chapter has taken FOREVER, so I'm super sorry about that. It's extra long to try and make up for it?
> 
> I kept trying to wrap everything up but it turns out there is more story to be told so this is not the last chapter like I thought it would be.
> 
> Hopefully there won't be too many more after this though (but I've said that before so don't trust me on anything).
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

The red digits of the clock blinked 6:47 at him when he cracked his eyes open. He hadn't looked at the time when he'd collapsed onto the bed but he actually felt pretty well-rested for once. No nightmares had plagued him, though there was a lingering sense of unease that carried through to his waking self. He groaned and lifted his arms over his head to stretch without getting off the memory foam, feeling his spine pull with a satisfying series of pops; rolling upwards to a sitting position he rubbed at his face and relished in the quiet, the only sounds were the faint electric buzz of the clock and the light, the background hum of the boiler coming to life and the rustle of the bedsheets as he moved, no voices.

Dean exhaled in relief, the tension flowing out of him in that breath, taking with it the remnants of his fear that coming back from his hallucination of Hell had just been another layer to the torment. Dean flung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. First, he was going to take an obscenely long shower and then he was going to go make the biggest bacon sandwich his mouth could fit around. It was a good morning.

 

***

 

"Good morning." Cas greeted, walking into the kitchen just as he moaned around the first bite of his deliciously greasy sandwich. Dean started at the voice and choked, coughing as a piece of bacon lodged itself in his throat. He grasped blindly for the glass of water next to him and chugged it down, dropping the sandwich back onto the plate. When his airway was clear, he looked up at Cas, who was staring at him, mildly concerned.

"Mornin' Cas."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just went down the wrong way."

The angel raised an eyebrow, "There's only one way for food to go, Dean."

"It's an expression." Dean said, rolling his eyes fondly.

"Oh." Cas peered at him, curious. "You're in a good mood."

Dean smirked and picked up his somewhat wonky sandwich again, straightening the bread back into position.

"Yep." He said, "No Dad, no Alastair, no nightmares, a good sandwich  _and_  we've still got that pile of books of Asmodeus' to look through. It's a lead, and now that this whole…" he gestured to himself, "thing is over, we can actually get back to focusing on the mission. That's a good thing, right?"

"It is." Cas agreed, sitting down opposite him and proceeding to not look him in the eye. Dean tried not to let it bother him although he could feel the oozing awkwardness, quite frankly it was putting him off his sandwich. He forced the next few bites down without really tasting them, a travesty really, and brushed the crumbs off his fingers. He too was finding it difficult to look at the angel without replaying his mistake of the night before. Of  _course_  Cas was weirded out, Dean was his friend and he'd asked him to stay the night. He felt his cheeks grow hot at the memory. The guy had every reason to be uncomfortable around him, he was probably regretting even coming into the kitchen. But the thought of Cas avoiding him for even a few days was disconcertingly sour on his tongue. He deserved it of course and if Cas needed the space then that was fine, he had been very clear about his lack of interest, but it would suck, knowing that an expression of his true feelings had finally driven the angel away where insults and jibes and violent rages hadn't. Dean looked down at his empty plate for a moment, then stood and picked it up, making his way over to the sink to wash it as quickly as possible and get out of Cas' hair.

"Dean, about last night-"

"It's cool, Cas, we don't have to talk about it." He said, scrubbing with the sponge slightly harder than was necessary.

"No, I think we should." Cas stood fluidly and came to lean on the counter next to Dean. "I just wanted to apologise."

"For what?" Dean asked, baffled.

"For misunderstanding. You were seeking physical comfort and I was selfish in denying you."

"Selfish?" Dean echoed, more confused than ever. "Dude, do I have to explain consent to you? You didn't want to, you said no. There is nothing selfish about that, if anything  _I_ was selfish for asking when I knew you wouldn't want-" He could feel himself blushing as he spoke but dammit, he couldn't let Cas believe that it was okay to be guilted into sex, "You don't owe me anything, Cas, and  _especially_  not that, not ever. I didn't ask because I expected anything, I just… Something Alastair said, an idea I had. I needed to know if it was true."

Cas frowned, clearly not liking that answer. "What idea?"

Dean smiled an easy, genuine smile. "It doesn't matter." He said, "You know why? Because it's not gonna change anything and I'm good with that because this," he gestured around to the bunker at large, "this is enough."

He meant it too. Knowing that he was in love with Cas, and probably had been for a very long time, really made very little difference. Even knowing that Cas didn't feel the same way wasn't a particularly harsh blow, he'd never imagined otherwise so really, he'd lost nothing by accepting what he felt, although it hadn't come easy. But telling Cas, even if he'd already worked it out, the guy was smart despite his cluelessness about some things, would only pile on a load of guilt that the angel didn't deserve. Even if, somehow, Cas could have felt something for him, it wasn't his fault that the stain Alastair had left disgusted him; hell, it disgusted Dean too but moping about it wasn't going to fix that. It wasn't something to be fixed, he just had to learn to live with it.

Cas tilted his head curiously, eyes searching his own as though looking for the hint of a lie.

"I think this is a good thing." He said slowly. "Your soul is particularly bright."

Dean flushed but couldn't help the way that his lips quirked at the softness of Cas' expression.

"Yeah, well it was a damn good sandwich."

Cas smiled indulgently, but there was something odd in his eyes as he looked away.

"We've managed to read a few of those journals of Asmodeus'." He said, diverting the topic onto safer ground. "They're exactly what they seem to be, every object that Asmodeus considered significant enough to be in his collection is described in detail; the date he came to possess it and what powers it has and where it's stored. He actually had a fruit from the tree of life at one point. If I'd read that particular entry sooner – well nevermind, the point is, even if he loses something, he does whatever it takes to find it again; if he gives something away, he keeps track of where it is and who it's passed on to. He has access to a  _lot_  of dangerous things, Dean. Some of them I've never even heard of, some of them are artefacts of myth. And he is meticulous in his notes, which means-"

"-Which mean a whole lotta reading material." Dean finished with a heavy sigh. "We've just gotta hope we got the right one."

"Yes, and if you're up to it, we could use your help sorting through them." Cas said. "We're in the library."

"Sam's up already?"

Cas glanced at him. "I don't think he went to bed." He admitted. "He told me that you two talked."

"Yeah," Dean said, guiltily, "about Dad. He didn't take it too well."

"Well, that's understandable." Cas said, "He probably just needs some time."

"Yeah. I just… Every time he looks at me, I don't want him to see what Dad did, you know? There was more to Dad than that and there's more to me than that and I don't need Sam treating me like I'm made of glass."

"You think he would?"

Dean sighed. "For a while probably. I give it a week until I manage to piss him off enough to jab back."

Cas smiled, "You're getting sloppy, it doesn't usually take more than an hour or so for you to piss people off."

Dean laughed and the sound came directly from his gut. "What can I say? I've grown."

"Not enough for you to be able to reach the top shelf."

"Hey! You're shorter than me wise-ass." Dean said, bumping his hip against the angel's to knock him off balance, unsuccessfully, he'd have better luck trying to tip over a tank.

"No," Cas said, with an honest to Chuck  _smirk_  on his face as he headed for the door, "my  _vessel_  is shorter than you.  _I_  still have a few feet on the Chrysler building."

"Whatever." Dean shot back, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl before following Cas out in the direction of the library, "You still have to use a stepladder to wash the top of your car."

"Well at least I don't have to cheat at every game of poker." Cas retorted.

"I don't cheat  _every_  game-"

"No, just the ones you want to win." Cas said smugly.

"Hah! That's funny, I'm the one who taught you how to play poker."

"Yes, and within four rounds I'd won all of your money."

"Which makes me a great teacher."

"I already knew that." Cas said, turning his head, grinning wide and warm but with a hint of sternness too, as though daring Dean to contradict him.

Dean felt something tug at his stomach when their eyes caught. It was always confusing when Cas looked at him like that, it was the way some people admired the sunrise, something awe-inspiring and powerful and as permanent as it was fleeting. It made his heart stutter and his gut twist and it wasn't until Cas looked away that Dean could breathe again.

He shook himself and refocused, sliding his gaze to where his brother was slumped at the big library table, laptop perched at an odd angle at his right side, an open book on his left; he looked a little pale and Dean suspected that Cas was indeed right that he hadn't slept, he was even still wearing the same clothes, though they looked slightly rumpled, as though he'd lain awake on his bed for a few hours before giving up on sleep.

"Head's up, sasquatch!" Dean called, lobbing the apple at his brother.

Sam jerked his hand up and caught the projectile almost without looking, show-off. He raised an irritated eyebrow at Dean when he saw what it was as though trying to discourage his 'mother henning', but the fact that he bit into the apple with a satisfying crunch told Dean that he appreciated the show of caring, plus he was probably hungry.

"Any luck?" he asked, sliding into the seat opposite Sam. Cas sat down next to him, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Not as such, no." Sam said with a sigh, "But I've been through about a third of these and I might have  _something_. Asmodeus seems to have maybe a dozen different storage units all over the country so I've been making a list of the items in each one, I figure if there are any correlations between the items in each unit-"

"-Then we can guess where the Seal is, even if we don't have the right book." Dean finished, slapping at his own thigh in pride. "You're a freaking  _genius,_  Sam!"

Sam huffed and flashed one of his blink-and-you-miss-it smiles.

"Don't thank me yet, I've barely gotten started. It's gonna take ages to type it all up."

"Can you scan 'em in?"

"Yeah, but it wouldn't do much good." Sam said, scratching at his chin, his stubble was a few days old now and it made the circles under his eyes stand out even more. "They'd come up as images rather than words so re-organising the pages would be a bitch."

Dean frowned.

"Why don't you just scan 'em an entry at a time rather than whole pages? Paste 'em into a table or something as you go?"

Sam raised his eyes to blink owlishly at his brother. "An entry at a time. Of course, I shoulda… shoulda thought of that."

"Look who's the genius now." Cas muttered with an inexplicably smug look on his face. Dean felt his cheeks heat up so he bustled over to where Charlie had left the scanner and brought it back over to Sam who immediately began setting it up with frenzied focus.

Dean was starting to get worried. Trying to work overtime on no sleep was bound to result in a few brain farts but Sam seemed to be yo-yoing between despair and determination and it was starting to give him a headache.

"Dude, chill, okay? This is still a long shot. There might not even be a pattern."

"You said his house was organised with one type of thing per room, right? Maybe he has the same system for the rest of it." He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, "Some pretty cool stuff in here too; I mean, plants, artefacts, talismans from all over the world; things for protection, for healing, for poisons; cursed objects, holy relics, weapons. He's had some of everything. It's like if an art collector got hold of everything from toddlers' finger paintings to Michelangelo's David."

"It's incredibly frustrating." Cas agreed pulling one of the books towards him from the pile in the middle of the table, evidently the books he and Sam hadn't managed to get through yet.

"It's more than that." Sam muttered, tapping a few commands on the keyboard before scanning the first entry, "It's like he doesn't care about any of it, or he cares about all of it equally."

"You shoulda seen the rest of his house," Dean said, shuddering, "it was a freak show. Dude has had  _way_  too much time on his hands."

They were silent for a while; Sam scanning and typing while he and Cas flipped through the remaining books, looking for a more specific, Seal related lead.

Dean had to admit it was pretty interesting reading. Sam was right, there was a  _lot_  of stuff that Dean wanted to know more about. Asmodeus had a few lines of description for each entry and a fair bit of blank space for later notes if the object was moved but Dean was hungry for more detail, some of this stuff could be  _really_  useful. Okay, so there was an amulet that turned people inside out and a plant that caused anyone who ate it to spew fire out of their ass but there was also a mirror that showed the true face of any creature, and a spellbook which sounded like a handy how-to guide for the most powerful protection charms in existence.

Dean made a few notes of his own, filing the info away for later. The Seal might be their number one priority but he wasn't going to ignore the gift horse if it was in danger of trampling him to death anyway.

"It feels like the more I learn about him, the less I know." Sam said irritably after what must have been several hours of intense reading. Dean shook himself out of research mode to look blearily over at his brother. The glare of white pages with black squiggles in yellow tinted light was doing a number on his eyes, he pressed the heels of his hands into them just as Sam spoke again, "I just can't get a read on what he's like from these."

"He's a kelpto." Dean shrugged, blinking rapidly to re-focus. "Does it matter?"

"Know your enemy, Dean." Cas put in as he calmly flipped over a page. "It could be the key to beating him."

"I guess… but hopefully we won't have to actually face the guy for a while."

"He might come for us." Sam said, expression grim. "He knows we were in Colorado, thanks to that demon that got away."

"The demon I let get away, you mean?" Dean said, clenching his jaw and trying to push back his guilt.

Sam jerked his head up in alarm and scrambled to change his wording but Cas spoke first.

"I think if Asmodeus were coming, he'd be here already." He said reasonably. "It's been several days and he can transport himself anywhere in an instant, either he doesn't care that much about what we stole or he can't find us. Either way, we have time."

"Yeah, but we don't know how much." Sam said with a careful glance to Dean. "If he's not looking for us, that's great, but if he  _is_ -"

"-Then there's nothing we can do but stay alert. This bunker is one of the safest places we could be. In the meantime, we find the Seal of Solomon and then we can worry about the rest."

"I dunno, man," Dean said doubtfully, toying with the corner of one of the books, spinning it on the wood with a gentle shushing sound, "it seems like a good idea to have a plan B. We've got a lot of info here. He doesn't know what we're looking for and like Sam said, there's a huge amount of stuff in just  _one_  of these, dangerous stuff, maybe stuff we could use against him with written down google maps. Why would he just let us keep that?"

"Sam said he doesn't seem to care about his possessions."

Sam huffed, "I mean, yeah, but that's when he's already got 'em. It's like Dean with his skin mags, he hasn't touched them in years but God forbid you try to clear 'em out."

"You don't mess with another guy's porn!" Dean shot back. "And how do  _you_  know I haven't looked at 'em?"

"Because they're growing  _mould_ , Dean, it's disgusting!"

"They have  _sentimental_  value, ass-wipe."

"Senti- Dean, you picked them up from a gas station in Maine because the nearest strip club was, and I quote, 'too far to walk.' I remember that because you woke me up at three am, drunk out of your skull and made me  _drive you_  to the gas station."

"Ahh," Dean said with a fond laugh, "good times." It had been, what, six years ago? He'd only been back from Purgatory for a few weeks, before Cas had gotten out. Dean had never told Sam that the reason he'd been drunk out of his skull was because he couldn't stop thinking about the moment Cas' hand had slipped from his, calling his name in fear and desperation, watching the portal close, leviathan right behind him.

That wasn't how it had actually been, of course. Cas had  _chosen_  to stay. Dean had never been able to figure out which felt worse, knowing that he'd failed Cas, or knowing that Cas would rather stay with the leviathan than come home with him.

It had been a bad night, the skin mags had been a momentary feeling of victory as he stumbled back out to the car, grinning when he saw Sam looking pissed in the driver's seat, still in his sleeping sweatpants, hair all over the place.

He didn't know why he had kept them, really. Sam was right, he hadn't so much as looked at them in years. He had the internet, he didn't need the frozen, glossy smiles of busty women in lingerie. They were just a reminder of a fleeting sense of drunken achievement. Still, he liked to know that they were there.

"See what I mean?" Sam said, giving Cas a pointed, amused look. "Besides, even if he doesn't care about the things themselves, the fact that we're trying to steal from him is enough of a reason to want us dead; hell, he wanted us dead anyway, he's probably coming for us on principle alone."

Dean bit his lip, there was no arguing with that. Cas seemed to think otherwise though, he leaned forwards onto the table, his fingers locking together on top of the pages of his chosen volume.

"That might be true, but we have nothing to use against him. The colt is destroyed, as is the spear. Jack's power is the only thing that might make a difference and right now, we don't even have that. So we need to get to him, him and Mary both, as fast as we can."

"Cas-" Dean said.

"I want them  _home_ , Dean." Cas said sharply, his eyes flashing, "I want them  _safe_."

"I know, buddy," Dean said, "but even if we find the Seal, we still need archangel go-juice before we can open the portal. Now,  _maybe_  Asmodeus had some tucked away-"

"-But we can't count on that." Sam put in, his tone slightly harsher than Dean thought was strictly necessary, "So we need to find the Seal, yeah, but we also need to make sure we'll be able to use it."

"And let's face it, Mom and Jack aren't exactly gonna be safe when we get 'em back anyway. Not until Asmodeus and Lucifer are out of the picture, you know that."

Cas sighed, it was a heavy sound, loaded, full of unspoken words and repressed emotion. Dean forgot sometimes just how much Cas held back, forgot that Cas had his own brand of screwed up to deal with. He was just so steady and put together, a steel bar holding the rest of them up when they threatened to collapse with no thought for what  _he_  needed. And right now, Cas needed to be doing everything he could to get to Jack, but instead he sighed and prepared to give in, to bow to the wants of the Winchesters; it made his guts twist with guilt when he saw it, and realised just how many times he had seen it before and done nothing.

"I'll do it." Dean offered suddenly, standing up. "Like Cas said, there's not much we can really do anyway. I'll set up a few more traps and take a look at the warding, see if I can give it a bit more punch. It's not like we don't already have twenty emergency escape plans set up, right? You nerds read it out, I'll come help when I'm done."

Sam nodded, scanning another couple of entries and arranging them on screen to his satisfaction. Cas, however, pushed himself to his feet again.

"I'll do the warding." He said, resigned, "No offence but your grasp of the Enochian is tenuous at best and Sam's handwriting is horrible."

"Hey!" Sam said indignantly.

Dean frowned, Cas coming to help kind of defeated his gesture but he had to admit, the warding would probably end up stronger for it. "Alright, I'll get cracking on the traps." He said, sweeping his arms to indicate that Cas should go ahead of him, then added more quietly, "Thanks, Cas."

The angel nodded to him as he passed and his lips flicked upwards in a small smile though it lacked the lightness of earlier. Guilt ripped at his stomach once more and it only increased in pressure as he looked back at Sam hunched over the laptop, scanner in hand, the half-eaten apple lying forgotten by his elbow, already starting to brown. He stopped in the doorway and waited for Cas to get a little way ahead of him before speaking. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam said without looking up.

"Liar."

"Dean-"

"No, come on, I'm serious."

"Yeah, I know you are. But right now, I'm trying to find the Seal of Solomon. This system is a good idea but it's still gonna take a while so I don't really have time to deal right now."

"So you're just gonna let it sit there?"

"Yes." Sam said shortly.

"Well that's healthy."

Sam shrugged, "If it works, it works."

"Right." He said voice lathered in sarcasm, "That has definitely been my experience."

"Shut up." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Look, I've got worse in my head than Dad, okay? I've gotta stay focused and do something  _useful_."

"Even if it means getting closer to the thing you're scared of?"

Dean didn't miss Sam's flinch.

"The faster we get this done, the sooner it's over." He said quietly. "I just want it to be over. I want him out of my head. Hell, you of all people should be able to understand that now, even a little."

"I do." Dean said, "You know I do. And I know he's been in there a long time, and I know it's getting harder to ignore now that he's back, but you know that even when it's over, it won't be the end and we still gotta get there. So don't make it harder for you to get there, okay?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, but after a moment he nodded.

"Okay." He said, turning back to the screen. "Don't forget to put a trap under the skylight in the armoury."

Dean wasn't sure his words had fully landed but he really didn't want to start a fight right now, so he let it go.

"You got it."

 

***

 

A couple of hours later, when Dean's hands smelled like aerosol paint and holy oil, he returned to the library to find that Cas had already finished up with the warding and he and Sam were chatting quietly over several open books and a laptop, Sam leaning towards the angel excitedly, Cas with a wary frown.

"Got something?"

"Perhaps." Cas answered him. "Sam thinks he found a pattern."

"Categories. It's pretty obvious actually. All witch magic and hoodoo stuff seems to go to the same place in Detroit, monster trophies like vamp fangs and dragon bones go to someplace in Illinois, religious artefacts-"

"That's the one, right? That's ours?"

Cas nodded solemnly, Sam shot a bitchface at his brother for interrupting and continued, "Religious artefacts: Radcliffe, Kentucky."

"Awesome!" Dean said, "Nice work, Sam."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam said, flipping his laptop shut and standing. "Impala's already pretty loaded up so I think we can leave in about an hour."

"An hour?"

Sam frowned at him, looking confused, "Why would we wait?"

"Oh, I dunno, Sam. Maybe because we don't have a plan, we're not sure the Seal is even  _there_  and you need a power nap and some goddamn dinner. We can go tomorrow."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, it's a twelve-hour drive, I can sleep in the car."

"You can and you probably will but you're gonna sleep in your own bed first." Dean insisted.

"Dean." Cas said, his voice low and calming, "I agree with Sam, we can't waste time. No, we don't know that the Seal is there, but if it  _isn't_ then that means Asmodeus no longer has it anyway and it's looking less and less likely that it's going to be in the last of these." He gestured to the pile in the middle of the table, which, indeed, was now only four books. "We can't go back to Colorado to try and steal more, this is our best lead."

"Exactly." Dean said, "We can't blow it this time, we need a solid plan."

"We had a good plan last time but it still all went to crap." Sam snapped. So, not a week, Cas was right. Go figure.

Dean tried not to look like he'd taken a punch. "Yeah, and I get that that's on me. But this is our one shot, Sam. If we screw this up, we don't get another chance. If we get the wrong place, he'll amp up the security on  _all_  of 'em; if we have to run before we can grab it, we're screwed. If Asmodeus figures out what we're there for he'll probably drop it in a freaking whirlpool. If you burn out halfway through, you think that'll be helpful?"

"Dean-"

"Cas, we don't even know what we're  _looking_  for." Dean said, rounding on him while Sam huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "There are probably hundreds of different things in there. The Seal could be any of them and I don't think Asmodeus would bother with a label-maker. So we make a plan, we take our time, we go in smart or we never get Mom and Jack back. Alright?"

Cas looked doubtful, Sam looked downright pissed.

"Look," Dean said, keeping his voice even, "It has been a crazy few days for all of us. I just don't think that running off into the next fight without cooling down from this one is a good idea. We can't take chances on this, it's not just some case. This is our family and the only way we bring them home is if we do this right."

Sam's jaw twitched but he deflated slightly.

"Okay." He said, "Okay. We can – uh – plan after dinner, I guess."

"I got dinner." Dean said. "You go wash up, you don't look like you've showered for at least two days."

That earned him a glare, but also a small smile so Dean was okay with it. Sam left, stretching, Dean winced at the painful-sounding crack of his neck.

"I'll finish these." Cas said, turning back to the four books. "We might as well determine if we had the location all along."

"Bring 'em with you." Dean said, "You gotta do something while me and Sam are stuffing our faces."

Cas squinted at him but gathered up the books and followed him to the kitchen. "My sitting with you serves no purpose, you know. I can read anywhere."

"It's family dinner, Cas, we all sit together, eating or not eating. You're not here to serve a purpose."

Dean looked over at Cas as he placed the books down on the metal island, he was looking down at them as he did so but there was a soft smile playing at his lips that made Dean glad he'd spoken. He quickly turned his attention back to the fridge before Cas looked up.

"What are you cooking?" His tone was strangely relaxed for someone who was usually so tense, and for someone who had been itching for action a few minutes ago. The question itself was also kinda funny, it made no difference to Cas what Dean would make but he sounded genuinely interested, so Dean narrated it to him as he peered into the fridge that hadn't been restocked since the day before Dean had gone to get Cas from the airport. Was that a week and a half ago? Considering how many memorable things had happened, it sure was hard to keep track of the days.

"Well, let's see." Dean said, pulling out a packet of chicken thighs. "We have chicken that's gone grey, a packet of mush which in another life might have been salad, half a block of what I'm pretty sure wasn't blue cheese when I bought it and a single floppy carrot. There are a couple of eggs left though, they're okay. I'm not gonna lie, Cas, it's pretty depressing."

"I don't think any of that is edible."

"Nope," Dean said, popping the 'p' and sweeping the contents of the shelves into the trash can after salvaging the eggs, "but, that's what we've got non-perishables and a freezer for, right?"

There wasn't much in the freezer either, apparently, he'd forgotten to stock up. But there  _was_ a packet of chicken breasts which he thumped onto the counter beside the eggs.

"Do chicken and eggs go together?"

Dean snorted, "No, one of 'em came first." He joked, turning to lean his hip against the counter.

It took Cas a moment but then his face cracked into a half-exasperated smile, "That was a terrible joke for a ridiculous question."

"It wasn't that ridiculous. Well, okay, it was, but I get what you mean; it's a weird combo when it comes to eating. Eggs go better with red meat as a general rule, at least I think so."

"You could order take-out?"

"Nah, I feel like cooking." Dean said. He wasn't really sure why but ordering take-out would feel like cheating, like he was just pretending again; being the person that his family expected him to be. Cooking felt more honest right now.

Dean pulled open one of the cupboards and stared inside, biting at his bottom lip. They had plenty of pasta and rice but Dean figured Sam wouldn't want something so heavy. The guy might not have had more than an apple all day but stuffing him full now would only make him feel crappy after. Besides,  _he_  felt like comfort food; something wholesome, something that would make the whole kitchen smell good. He reached up to twist around a few cans and packets of MREs that had been there when they moved in, then his fingers grazed a can right at the back. He read the label and grinned, then spent an awkward two minutes manoeuvring it and its neighbour out without causing an avalanche of ramen. He placed it on the side next to the rest and grabbed some chicken stock cubes too before he went over to the herb cupboard with actual purpose.

"Sweetcorn?" Cas asked.

"Yep," Dean said, actually starting to feel excited. It was stupid but he really did like cooking from scratch; cans and take-out were nice and convenient but in Dean's line of work, actually  _making_  something as opposed to destroying it was pretty rare, "and salt and pepper and ginger. It's better with fresh ginger obviously but this'll do fine."

He grinned over at Cas as he placed the condiments with the other ingredients, the angel was staring at him curiously, head tilted.

"What?" He asked, nudging the sugar tin into position.

"You're good at this aren't you? Making a meal from nothing?"

Dean barked out a laugh, "Yeah, I guess so." He said, rummaging around for the cornflour, he knew he'd gotten some way back – ah, there it was. "I kinda had to be, you know? When Dad couldn't get us to a sitter or went out for an hour-long hunt that lasted a week, I had to keep Sammy fed. Sometimes he'd leave us with proper groceries rather than packet crap with instructions so I had to figure out what to do with them on my own."

"It must have been difficult." Cas said softly.

Dean shrugged. "It was what it was. But I guess I learned to like it. Half the time I'd skip last period so I could get back and make sure Sammy would come home to dinner on the table, like a damn housewife."

"I'm sure he appreciated it."

Dean smiled fondly and shook his head, heading over to a different cupboard. Soy sauce and… there, sesame seed oil.

"Are you kidding me?" He said through his grin, "I swear he expected me to be psychic or something, most of fourth grade he had nothing but complaints. Little brat."

He stepped back and surveyed his compiled ingredients before nodding to himself, satisfied. Then he grabbed a huge soup pot and set it on the stove.

"Chicken and sweetcorn soup." He announced for no real reason as he busied himself boiling water and stirring in the stock cubes. "I haven't made it in years. But it was almost always a hit, good for when he was sick too and it lasted a few days if I could make enough of it." He slid the chicken into the microwave to defrost and turned back to Cas, as though the angel should have a reaction to the type of food he was preparing.

He was staring at Dean with something like wonder in his eyes, warm and calm and bright. Dean felt heat flood to his cheeks.

"I – er –" he said, trying to distract himself from the way Cas was looking at him, "I think I found the recipe in a magazine or something and decided to try it out. I had to beg Dad to get all the right stuff and he got real pissy about it but when he got back from his hunt there was still some left and the last bowl's always the best so he tried it and said... he said it was better than Mom's tomato-rice." He breathed out a sound that was half a laugh and was embarrassed to feel tears spring to his eyes. He blinked them back quickly. He'd been so proud watching his father's eyes widen in pleased surprise while he stood there, shuffling his feet like a contestant on freaking Masterchef waiting for his score. It had been a good night; one of those rare good nights that Dean treasured, passing in laughter and board games. Dean had pushed himself to stay awake until almost midnight, wanting the night to last as long as possible.

He shook himself hurriedly when the microwave beeped and he set about dicing and frying the chicken separately before dumping it and the couple tins of sweetcorn into the stock. He got out a smaller bowl and mixed up the cornflour with some water, making sure it was smooth before adding it to the pot; once, he'd been too impatient and there had been globs of thick, tasteless paste in the finished soup which had made Sam gag.

As soups went, it was pretty easy, after letting it simmer for a few minutes basically all he had to do was throw everything in and leave it until he was ready to add the egg whites and sesame seed oil. Dean took a deep sniff of the latter after opening it up. He loved the smell of sesame. Cas craned his neck to see, so once Dean had splashed some into the bowl with the egg whites he slid the bottle across to Cas so he could smell it too. Cas took a cautious sniff and then a slightly longer one.

"That is a very pleasant scent." He remarked.

"Right?" Dean said. "When we moved around, I'd bring it with me if I could, it's hard to get a hold of in some of the smaller towns and I pretty much never use it for anything other than this so it wasn't worth buying at every motel. Sometimes, if we'd been in the car for a long time and it was too cold or windy to have the windows down, I'd take a nose-full of the stuff."

Cas handed him back the bottle thoughtfully and Dean cursed himself as he put it away and set to mixing the oil and egg whites together with a fork. Why was he telling Cas all these stories? Not that he minded Cas knowing, those moments were important to him and it's not like he had much of an occasion to talk about them, seeing as Sam was there and Mary would only see the tragedy between them. But it felt intimate; Dean puttering around the kitchen, a pot bubbling merrily on the stove, the homey smell of soup infusing the air, Cas listening intently as he talked about happy times. It was very… domestic, and Dean was a little afraid of the fact that he really didn't hate it.

He should put an end to it, of course, Cas had already been very clear that this wasn't what he wanted their relationship to be, but the way he was leaning forward on the metal island, books ignored, eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile that had completely bypassed his mouth suggested to Dean that maybe  _he_  didn't hate it that much either.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." Cas said quietly, and the tone of it stole Dean's breath. He  _did_  sound grateful, like he felt privileged to be told about a compliment his dad gave him thirty years ago and that he liked the smell of sesame.

Dean shrugged and stirred the soup, not knowing how else to react. "It's not exactly a secret."

"No, but I'm glad I know it now."

Dean swallowed and leaned back against the counter as casually as he could manage.

"Well… good I guess."

"I think this was a good idea of yours, having tonight to rest. You were right, it has been a rather trying week."

"We should definitely take breaks more often."

"Agreed."

"It's a shame the world won't let us."

Cas raised his eyebrows and nodded in an expression of solidarity, "Hopefully things will slow down when we bring the others home."

Dean swatted at him playfully with the spoon he'd been using to taste.

"Don't jinx it!"

Cas raised his hands in surrender as Dean turned back to the stove to add the egg whites and oil; as he lifted the bowl, he noticed a rustle as Cas moved around the island to stand at his shoulder, watching curiously, a solid presence behind him. Dean tried not to react, though Cas was standing very close so he could see properly as Dean began to pour the mixture in, a little at a time, stirring all the while.

Cas made a surprised sound as the egg whites rose to the top, turning from clear goo to thick white almost immediately, spinning lazily in delicate swirls on top of the yellow soup as Dean stirred.

"Pretty cool, right?" Dean said, resisting the urge to poke fun at the fact that Cas had never seen egg in soup before, because, well, this was his favourite part too; he'd been fascinated the first time he'd made it, following the recipe like intricate spellwork. He tried to pour the mixture in as evenly as possible although there were almost always a few large dollops that fell in at once. When he was done, he put the empty bowl down and turned his head slightly to look at Cas, the angel was staring into the pot with a strange mix of longing and interest.

"Wanna taste some?"

"Very much." Cas said, "But I don't think I'd be able to fully appreciate it."

Dean scooped up the spoon he'd flapped at Cas before and dipped it in the pot, making sure to get a bit of egg, a couple kernels of corn and a small piece of chicken on the implement. He held it out to Cas, who looked hesitant.

"At worst, it tastes like atoms." Dean said encouragingly, "You said you liked the smell, right? Well, try using that as a basis for the taste."

Cas held out for a second longer before leaning forward and blowing gently on the steaming soup, probably because that's what he'd seen Dean do when he was tasting it, and then he wrapped his lips around the metal and used his top lip to slide the contents into his mouth. Dean almost dropped the spoon, he'd been expecting Cas to take the damn thing so was wholly unprepared for the changing weight in his fingers, and for the hive of bees suddenly released in his stomach.

Cas straightened up, frowning slightly, his jaw moving oddly like he was swirling the soup around inside his mouth to get an opinion from every single one of his tastebuds. Dean tried not to be impatient, it shouldn't matter to him one way or the other if Cas could taste the soup, but he shifted his weight anxiously all the same.

Cas began to chew slowly and Dean heard the faint crack of a piece of corn. After what felt like an age he swallowed, his face still unreadable, as though he had to wait for the food to hit his stomach before he could pass judgement. Then, he broke into a smile, bright and gummy and goddamned adorable.

"It tastes very good." He said. "I especially like the ginger."

"Awesome." Dean breathed, unable to stop his own smile, Cas just looked so damn proud of himself. Well, if he hadn't been certain about his feelings for the angel before, he definitely was now. He was in love with him. Crap.

Dean turned away quickly and lowered the heat on the stove, hoping that the rising steam would give an excuse for how red his face must be right now. He took up the wooden spoon, slightly damp now from all the steam, and began stirring smoothly, making sure the kernels didn't catch on the bottom of the pot, listening to the little pops and crackles of it.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, not turning to look. He kept stirring the soup. It was done, there was nothing else to do to it, he only kept the stove on at all 'cause they were waiting on Sam, so he shuffled over to the crockery cupboard and pulled out two bowls, "You want a bowl?"

"No, thank you." Cas said, suddenly sounding a little flustered, "I had to push my grace away from my self in order to taste it as I did, I can't maintain that for long."

"Fair enough." Dean said. He kinda wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about but he wasn't sure he'd be able to focus on the answer. In love, he was  _in love_  with Cas.

It was completely ridiculous of course. For one thing, Cas clearly wasn't interested, for another, he was a dude (although Dean had to admit that that fact bothered him a lot less than it once would have), and for a third, Dean Winchester did  _not_  fall in stupid puppy love with dorky angels in trenchcoats. Or with anyone. He couldn't, he was no longer capable. He'd been in love three times before and look how that had turned out. Okay, Cassie had come out of it in one piece, probably because he hadn't stuck around long enough to put her in danger but Lisa? She'd had to have her mind Windexed after he almost got her  _and_  her son killed. And the third time? Well… he didn't like to think about that, although Alastair was probably more than half of the reason why he couldn't be in love with Cas right now.

"Dean, what I was going to ask-"

Okay, maybe he couldn't entirely help it, what with the way Cas said his name; picking his way carefully over the letters, firmly pushing through the bite of the first consonant, lingering on the soft vowels in the middle, gently tapping at the 'n'. Dean had never thought that his name could be turned into music but somehow, Cas managed it. Damn. Whatever, just because he couldn't help it didn't mean he couldn't control how it affected him, right? He just had to carry on like normal, pretend that he wasn't in love with his best friend the angel, act like he hadn't asked him to spend the night in a moment of weakness. Right. All he had to do was forget about it, it was best thing for everybody.

"-Have you given any more thought as to why you wanted me to stay last night?"

Dean snatched two clean spoons from the cutlery drawer with as much noise as humanly possible and dumped them with loud clangs into their respective bowls.

"Err... not really." Dean hedged, firmly turning his back on the angel on the pretext of stirring the soup. Good thing he couldn't ruin it by stirring too much. "I've kinda got a lot of other stuff to think about."

Cas hummed, sounding thoughtful and thought Dean couldn't see him, he was almost certain that Cas' eyebrows had pulled into a soft frown which shouldn't even be a  _thing_  but Cas made it work. "I suppose you do."

"Why does it matter?" Dean asked, cursing himself for the question as soon as it left his mouth. He should change the topic, he didn't want to tell Cas about his realisation, he'd already decided that it made no difference. Cas' friendship was already more than he deserved, and he was too broken to be able to do anything about it anyway so what was the point in upsetting the balance of the bunker?

"It doesn't really." Cas said on a release of breath.

"So why'd you ask?" Dean asked too quickly, choking on air as the words pushed out, irrational panic sweeping through him. He cleared his throat in what he hoped was a casual way and contemplated sticking his head in the bubbling soup, if nothing else, it would be an effective way to shut himself up.

Cas, fortunately, didn't seem to notice his fumble, or if he did, he was tactful enough to pretend not to.

"For a conclusion, I guess." He said slowly, as though deliberately selecting his words. Dean spun to face him, rolling the answer around in his brain but not getting any sense out of it.

"To what?"

Cas blinked at him, a pensive expression on his face, all deep lines and angles. After a moment something shifted and he opened his mouth.

"Is that chicken and sweetcorn soup?"

Dean jumped, tearing his eyes from Cas as Sam sidled in, looking a lot better than he had an hour ago Dean was pleased to see; he'd shaved, his hair was still wet from the shower and he was dressed in a soft grey hoodie with a hole in one of the pockets and what he called his 'comfy jeans'. He also looked far more excited about soup than a thirty-six-year-old man had any right to be.

"Uh... yeah." Dean said as Sam folded himself onto one of the stools at the island. Cas casually opened one of the books he'd brought with him, looking for all the world like he hadn't just been interrupted preparing to voice something important.

"Man, you haven't made that in ages. It smells amazing."

"It's done." Dean said, chucking the wooden spoon into the sink and swapping it with a ladle. He filled one of the bowls in two scoops and slid it over to Sam who dug in like it was the first proper meal he'd had in days, hell maybe it was.

"You got any bread?" He asked, a dribble of soup escaping his mouth and falling back into the bowl.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Sammy." Dean chided. He opened the bread bin and peered suspiciously at the rolls in there. "Huh, these might actually not be too bad." He pulled one out of the plastic wrapping and spun it over. "Nope, sorry, Sam, it's gone green on the bottom."

"There might still be a few slices in the freezer?" Sam suggested hopefully.

Dean rolled his eyes but dutifully went to check, true enough, there were five slices left, two of which were crust. He pulled them all out and crumpled up the wrapping, tossing it into the bin. Then he dropped the bread into the industrial sized toaster and pressed the defrost button. Man, he would have killed for one of these when he was a kid, then maybe he wouldn't have burned himself on the grill so much.

When the bread popped out again, slightly more toast than bread, Dean slathered on the butter and dumped the plate on the island, nudging it closer to Sam's seat than his own, then he finally filled a bowl for himself and sat. He savoured the first taste straight from the spoon before snagging a piece of bread to dip in. It was as good as he remembered; sweet and smooth with the slight heat of pepper and ginger. When Sam went for seconds, a remarkably short time later, Dean chuckled softly at the way he filled his bowl right up to the brim and had to use a tea towel to transfer it over without burning his hands; his focused expression was just as intense as it had been in the library, searching for a pattern in hundreds of notes. Dean smirked at the comparison, Sam had always been like that, committing fully to everything he did; he'd never been one to half-ass a task that he set himself, even something as simple as re-filling a bowl of soup deserved his full concentration. Cas shot Sam an amused look over the top of his book as he groaned around his next mouthful.

"Do you and the soup want to be alone, Sam?" Dean teased.

"Ha ha." Sam said, his voice muffled by the spoon. "Shut up, it's good."

"It is," Cas agreed, "but I managed to taste it without sound effects."

Sam swallowed and released a puff of steam on his next breath, " _You_  tasted it?" he asked in surprise, turning to Cas, who shrugged.

"It smelled interesting."

"How does that work?" Sam asked eagerly, shifting around on his stool to more fully face the angel, moving his bowl with him, "I thought you could only taste molecules or whatever."

Dean watched as Cas launched into a patient (and thorough) explanation while Sam listened with rapt attention, occasionally chiming in with a question or offering a metaphor that he might actually be able to wrap his brain around, a lot of Cas' answer sounded very technical. He felt a powerful surge of fondness in that moment, and a growing pride. It was stupid, he knew, but the fact that he had made the food that Sam was jealously guarding and that had sparked the conversation that caused Cas to look like an enthusiastic college lecturer was far more satisfying than decapitating any vamp. And for once, it wasn't marred by the fear that he'd somehow screw everything up, or strengthened by the thought of what John would say if he could see them now; it was just Dean, enjoying the company of his family, good food and bad jokes and confusing metaphors. Dean finished off his own bowl and got up to re-fill it. Digging the ladle down to the bottom to scoop up more of the chicken pieces and corn, seeing as Sam was going to hog the rest of the bread he might as well get the more substantial parts of the soup itself. He re-took his seat, Sam was still probing Cas about how exactly he was able to feel as a human, but now he seemed to be asking more about the emotional side and Cas was starting to look uncomfortable.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, by way of a distraction, "if you're not going to eat that, does it mean I can have the last piece of bread?"

Sam's head jerked around and, with the instinct of a little brother, he swiped the bread out of Dean's hand and immediately dunked it into his bowl before taking a huge bite, just to prove the point.

Dean tried to keep a straight face, he really did, he stared at Sam whose cheeks were puffed up with soup and air, both of them waiting for the other to break first.

Surprisingly it was Cas who let out the first chuckle, which caused Sam to break, spewing soup all over the table with a sound like a trumpet blast and then Dean was gone, the laughter resounded throughout his whole body, echoing off the tiles, Cas had to hurriedly lean forward and pull his bowl away before he face-planted into it. His forehead ended up on the warmed metal of the island instead, trembling with the force of his mirth, short bursts of sound punching from him as he regained the ability to breathe. He finally looked up to see Sam's eyes streaming and Cas' shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The three of them, traumatised and scarred from war, laughing like idiots over bowls of soup.

Eventually, Dean calmed down enough to stand on shaky legs and walk over to grab the roll of paper towels to mop up the spilled soup. Still giggling, Sam waved him away and took the roll from him, mopping up the mess himself. Cas had stopped laughing, but he had an expression on his face like he couldn't believe his luck, like here in the bunker with two forty-year-old children was the best place the angel could think to be. Dean wondered if he'd ever been to Barbados, not that Dean would know if that were better or not,  _he'd_  never been to Barbados, but it sounded nice.

"So," Dean said, re-introducing words back into the kitchen and grabbing his bowl, the soup was still hot, bonus, "once we're done with food, how about we grab a couple beers and put on a movie?" It had been ages since their last movie night. Sam had chosen last time, it had been something artsy and German. Pretty good storyline, but Sam had kept talking over the dialogue to offer up facts about the director's choices. Cas has been interested in the trivia but Dean had just wanted to get into the film itself and ended up re-watching it later on his own.

Sam shoved aside the sopping tissue and tore off another section to wipe up the last of the spill before standing to dump it all in the bin. "That sounds awesome, Dean," he said, "but we still need to work out a plan of action for tomorrow. It might be a long drive but if we can at least get a proper outline sorted here, I'll feel a lot better about going in blind."

"Blind may not exactly be the term." Cas said suddenly, picking up his abandoned book and running a finger along the page, "We may be able to get a basic layout of the place itself before we get there. While all of the objects might be religious artefacts, it's likely that they'll be separated into different sections and sub-sections depending on which religion they are artefacts of. I've come across a lot of Christian pieces, yes, but there are also plenty of relics that don't fit that category. Why would Asmodeus keep a section of the cross next to a carving of Yashoda? It wouldn't make sense."

"And?"

"Each piece in storage has a shelf number, correct? If we assume that the system begins as you enter the door in a clockwise direction then we can figure out the likely place the Seal might be."

"That's only if you're right." Sam said carefully, "He might use a completely different system."

"He might." Cas agreed, "I'm not saying any map we make will be accurate, but it gives us a starting point. It could save us from having to check every single shelf and we'll lose nothing by trying."

"Good point. Nice one, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam." Cas said, "I'll work on it while you sleep."

"Great." Dean said, resigned to the fact that they would be spending the next few hours discussing strategy but unable to completely squash down his disappointment that their moment of fun was over. "Well then… let's get planning." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. I know, I know, it's a whole load of nothing. After all the angst I feel like they deserved a little bit of peace and pure fun so although not much happens, I felt cleansed writing it. So, instead of the conclusion, you ended up with a filler chapter... you'll have to let me know how you feel about that.
> 
> I edited this in work because it's been pretty slow. Hopefully I pared it down to your satisfaction.
> 
> I look forward to any and all feedback. 
> 
> Also, (if this works) here's [my tumblr](http://tibbinswrites.tumblr.com/) in case any of you want to get in touch. I keep forgetting to add it in.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience and your wonderful support, it really helps keep the motivation up.
> 
> I can only keep apologising for the amount of waiting I make you do between chapters, this story just won't quit!
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

Over the course of the evening, Dean and Sam steadily worked their way through the vat of soup and somehow, it gave them the energy to keep throwing out impossible ideas and wrangle them into something with the vague form of a plan. Cas helped of course, piecing together a shadow of a map from the fragments of information they had in less than an hour, stating that he would make a more detailed version overnight. If Cas was right, the Seal shouldn't actually be too far from the front door, about six shelves in by his 'rough' estimation. Though of course it would depend on the size of the room and the number of objects missing from their inventory (Dean had accurately measured it as 'a buttload').

They would need to scope out the building properly before they could come up with an actual entry strategy of course but Sam said that an exit strategy was more important anyway, though he didn't think very much of Dean's 'we get out and we kill anything that tries to stop us' plan, he did agree that that would probably end up being what happened, given their track record. They did consider the route to take too, they didn't want to make it too clear to anyone Asmodeus might have watching them that they were headed for Kentucky, it was a long drive and twelve hours would be more than enough time for Asmodeus to clean the place out if he knew they were coming. Cas argued that detouring through other states would take even more time and the fact that they wouldn't be stopping in the towns with other storage units would give away the fact that they were after something specific. He suggested that shaking whatever tail they had on them completely would be more effective than trying to confuse them. Dean pointed out that it was hard to tell if you had demons on your ass if they really didn't want you to know about it, so if they went for that option, they might not truly know if they were successful until the whole thing was over. They both looked to Sam to make the ultimate decision on that one.

It was pushing 11pm when Dean came to the conclusion that they would have made just as much progress putting in a movie. They might have been able to look at the building on Google maps and get a vague idea of points of entry from there, but it backed onto an alley with no visual. Sam had hacked into the cameras in the area and they'd gotten glimpses of the same people hanging around, but whether they were demons on patrol or just locals heading to the bar down the block, they couldn't be certain. The whole thing made him uneasy and by the way Sam was jostling his leg and the way Cas kept repeating the same points they'd agreed on over and over, he guessed that they felt the same. This was important to all of them, they needed this to go right. If they couldn't find the Seal then Dean had no idea what their next step would be, would there be any point going for the archangel grace if they couldn't get the Seal? Without Jack, they had nothing to use against Lucifer, but without Lucifer they wouldn't be able to get Jack. It was a sticky catch 22 that Dean was sure the others, especially Sam, had already considered but thinking about making the call as to whether or not their family was worth the risk of facing down the Devil was a punch to the gut that he hadn't expected. True, the sooner they acted the less time Lucifer would have to power up, but even in his current state he'd managed to break out of Hell and almost kill Cas (again), so rushing in with nothing but determination would be a sure-fire way to get them all dead.

Whatever, he needed to focus on the Seal, this mission was something they at least had a chance at. But when he and Sam finally called it a night sometime in the early hours, he couldn't help but feel like he had never been less prepared for a mission that could change so much. He stared at the ceiling, arms folded across his chest, already mourning the easy happiness they had had at dinner. That had been everything that Dean had needed, he hadn't even felt the loss of his mom from the picture. That struck him suddenly, deeply, because he'd been feeling Mary's absence since he was four years old and carrying his squalling brother out of a burning building but now that she was in trouble, now that  _she_  needed _him_ , now was the time he decided to just not give a crap? What the hell kind of son did that make him, huh? What the hell kind of  _human_?

"An ungrateful asshole, that's what." He muttered aloud, bending over the sink to splash some water on his face.

He  _did_  care though, of course he did. The thought that Mary and Jack were stuck in a world caught in constant war was a persistent pain in his gut. He cared about them, he wanted them home, he just wished that it wasn't so much of a risk to try. He recalled Billie's warning about the house of cards and here they were, the big, dumb Winchesters planning to charge right into it, arms swinging. She's probably so pissed at them right now that honestly he's kinda surprised she hasn't shown up yet to tell them how amazingly stupid and selfish they're being; then again, she probably already knows it'd just be a waste of her time, when had they ever hesitated when it came to family?

Dean sat back on the bed and pulled out his laptop, maybe he could numb his mind with Netflix enough to actually be able to sleep. Tomorrow would go fine, it had to go fine. There wasn't another option.

 

***

 

At six am they were ready to go, the impala was loaded, as was the cream-coloured pick-up truck that Cas was taking. They were hoping that there wouldn't be more than one demon on their tail, and that suspicions wouldn't be raised by the Winchesters and the angel going their separate ways. They cruised side by side until they hit the main junction out of town. Dean and Sam looked over at Cas. Cas nodded at them, expression grim, and raised his fingers off the wheel in farewell. Then he turned right while Dean carried on straight. Dean couldn't help turning his head slightly to watch until the sight of the pick-up was lost behind the fire station.

"He'll be fine." Sam said from the passenger seat, not even bothering to pretend he didn't know where Dean's thoughts were.

"I know he will," Dean scoffed, "he can handle demons."

"They're more likely to follow us, don't you think?"

Dean gripped harder at the steering wheel. "Then let's lose 'em"

 

***

 

Dean pulled out every trick he knew to shake a tail. He'd taken back roads, doubled back at least four times, sped through changing lights at the last second and he kept one eye on the rear-view for any cars that seemed to be following. Sam scanned the crowds in case any demon was travelling on foot, or by teleportation or whatever. Tension rolled off the two brothers as the importance of this mission settled in around them, putting their plan into action felt more real than theorising and they were both jumpy. Sure, a couple of demons would be the least of their worries, but if things went wrong this early on, it wouldn't bode well for their chances.

Dean stewed in his own thoughts for a few minutes before shoving a random tape into the deck. He turned the volume low, in case they needed to point something out, but the familiar strains of Metallica helped him remember to take a breath. Sam nodded along to the music too and for a moment he looked a decade and a half younger, with a stupid fringe and a wide grin, running on a desire for revenge and fierce hope that he would get it. Dean swallowed hard and turned back to the road. A lot had changed since then, and some things hadn't. Dean couldn't tell which was worse.

"Any signs?" He asked, by way of breaking the silence.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen the same guy with brown hair a few times now," Sam said, "but he has such a generic face it's hard to be sure."

"Best way to blend in." Dean muttered. "Course, the son of a bitch could be smoking out into a new vessel every three miles and we've got no way to tell."

"Yeah." Sam said grimly, "Assuming it's even taking a vessel at all."

"Well that's cheery."

Sam's eyebrows flicked upwards for a second before he leaned more comfortably against the window.

"Do you think we can pull this off?" He asked in a quiet voice. His thumb rubbing against the edge of his mouth.

Dean looked over at his brother, he'd picked up that nervous habit as a kid when he once tripped on the sidewalk and ended up with a split lip and a chipped tooth, he'd fiddled with the cut and subsequent scab for weeks, despite Dean's attempts at distraction and it had kinda stuck as a thing.

"We've been thieves before, right? We got this."

"I don't just mean getting the Seal." Sam staring down at the hand still in his lap. The one that was opening and closing as though he were stretching it. "I mean getting the Seal  _and_  Lucifer's grace  _and_  opening the portal  _and_  rescuing Mom and Jack. It's a lot, Dean and getting them back is the most important thing to me and I dunno if we can do it. I don't know if  _I_  can do it."

"You can."

"How do you  _know_?"

"You listen to me." Dean said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "You've been fighting that bastard since he told you you were his vessel. Every second of every day, you've been fighting him. So how do I  _know_  that you can beat him? Because I've watched you do it, Sammy. You've never given him an inch and you have never been what he wanted you to be. No matter what happens, Sam, you've already won."

"Dean." Sam said, taking in a shuddering breath. Dean pretended not to notice as Sam wiped his eyes on his shirt. "Thanks."

Dean pushed him gently on the shoulder. "Would it be too cheesy if I told you that you're my hero?"

"Shut up." Sam said with a choked laugh.

"No, I'm serious. I mean, I worshipped Dad. I thought that the dirt he walked on was hallowed ground. But you… you were just a kid and you knew who you were, more than I ever-" He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I always admired that about you. You've never let anybody tell you who you are, you make that decision for yourself. You've never been afraid of going after what you want. That's why you can do this, because you want it and I feel sorry for anything that gets in your way."

"Nice speech." Sam said gruffly, embarrassed. Dean grunted and left it there, giving Sam the opportunity to think over his words. Normally, he would have made a crude joke but that didn't feel right just now, not while Sam was feeling so vulnerable.

"You know," Sam said a little while later, they were just passing through Kansas City and the highway had been pretty empty after the rush of commuter traffic just before nine. The landscape was pretty featureless save for the occasional smattering of trees and expanses of farmland, sometimes even a hill. There were no evasive manoeuvres he could use on such a long stretch of road but it didn't really matter that much. "You could get what you want too."

Dean shot Sam a confused frown. "What are you talking about?"

"You said I'm not afraid to go after what I want. You could do the same."

"I've got everything I need, Sam." Dean said, and it was true. He had his brother, his car, Metallica playing softly, his best friend was just a prayer away and he had a home to back to at the end of the day. Aside from all of his family together, which they were actively working on, he couldn't think what else Sam might mean.

"That's not the same thing." Sam said gently. "What do you  _want_ , Dean? What is it that you're afraid of? We're on our way to steal from a Prince of Hell and after that, we're gonna try and take down  _Lucifer_ , it doesn't get scarier than that so whatever it is, there's no point in being afraid of it, right?"

"It's not  _what_  I want that I'm afraid of." Dean said in a hushed tone. He thought of Mary hugging him for the first time since he was four years old, not counting his trip to Heaven or messing with the past, covered in mud and confused out of her mind; he thought of Jack and the pride on his face at being able to move a pencil. He thought of Cas, smiling at him in the warm orange glow of a diner, "It's getting it."

"That makes no sense."

"Hah, don't I know it."

"Dean-"

"We've kinda got bigger things to deal with right now, Sam." Dean said evasively.

"It's a long drive."

Dean grumbled something vaguely threatening under his breath and Sam let out a short chuckle.

"We've gotta do  _something_. I'm gonna go crazy if we have to sit in silence the whole way."

"Then how about a game of I-spy?" Dean snapped, "Do you, with your little eye, see something beginning with D?"

"You think they're still following?" Sam asked, twisting in his seat.

Dean glanced in the rear-view, the road stretched out behind them, only the occasional car to be seen, though whether those cars were being driven by demons or not, he couldn't tell.

He shrugged. "Probably. We knew that they could catch us up on the highway."

"I guess." Sam said. "But considering we don't even know for sure if there  _are_  any demons…" he trailed off.

"Oh, I am just digging the uncertainty on this one." Dean said, pressing his foot harder on the gas to stop his leg bouncing with apprehension. "I really  _love_  not knowing if this whole plan is over before we even got started."

"I know." Sam said grimly. "I'm worried too."

Dean took the next exit and did a few circuitous laps of the nearby towns, even stopping once for gas before casually winding his way further along their planned route. Sam pressed his lips together at the lost time, which Dean understood, but they weren't really on a clock until they got closer to Kentucky. At this point they could be heading for almost any of Asmodeus' storage locations and Dean figured the more they could keep their tail guessing, the easier it would be to shake them.

 

***

 

Sam called Cas at the ten-hour mark.

"How are things going on your end?" He asked, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the dash. Cas' voice was patchy and kept fading out, Dean could hear snatches of a familiar melody in between all the white noise, Cas was listening to some Zeppelin. Dean smirked, that certainly beat the Top 40s stuff Cas played in his room. Maybe the guy did have some taste after all.

"I just got out of Texas," Cas was saying, sounding irritable. "The traffic was terrible, though it may have helped to cover my tracks a little. I think I managed to lose two of them."

Dean shot a concerned look at the phone.

"How many you got?" He asked quickly.

"More." Cas said with a sigh of static. "So don't believe you've lost all of yours either. Asmodeus  _really_  wants to keep track of where we're going, I'm pretty sure there were only three at the start. The fact that we're moving must have set off alarm bells. Be careful."

"Yeah," Sam said, "we will. Do they know we're onto them?"

"With the way I know Dean drives? Almost definitely." Cas said, a slight smile in his voice. "But the ones following me are actually very careful, difficult to spot. Although we have to assume that Asmodeus is smart enough to know that  _we're_  smart enough to at least consider the possibility of a tail so maybe they're not suspicious so much as they expect us to be."

"God, this is making my brain hurt." Dean grouched, "It's like playing mind games with freaking Littlefinger. How many layers is one too many?"

"If we knew that, we wouldn't be so on edge." Sam said. "And we'd have a better plan."

"Yeah, and that would involve the universe giving us a break for once."

"Our plan is good." Cas said, clearly going for reassuring but falling a little short, he seemed to realise it too because there was an awkward pause and Sam and Dean exchanged glances, "Let's just get where we're going."

"Right," Sam said, "we got this."

"No more doubts?" Dean asked, glancing over at Sam whose face was set in determination.

"No. This is too important. It's the  _only thing that matters right now, we have_  to get the Seal."

"Presumably you're going to need to stop and sleep at some point." Cas said dryly. "How much longer do you think? I'm still about fourteen hours out, not counting the detours."

Dean glanced at the next street sign they passed, "About twelve. But yeah, if we stop for some shut-eye then you'll still beat us easy."

"We  _could_  take turns driving." Sam muttered.

"No." Dean said sharply. Sam rolled his eyes, which caused indignant rage to coil in Dean's belly, "Don't you pull that face at me, Sam you  _know_  why you're not allowed to drive."

"Yeah, yeah. By all means, Dean, put your pride in front of the mission."

"Driving or not, I will punch you in the face." Dean shot back.

"Guys." Cas said. "Stop it. You're going to be stuck on the road for a while, do you really want to spend it arguing?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other and Dean's anger abated a little.

"How else would we spend it?" Sam asked, trying his best to sound genuinely puzzled.

Cas chuckled softly and the sound made Dean wish that he was in the car with them rather than fourteen hours away, if only so Dean could glance back at him in the rear-view mirror and see his slight smile. He liked that smile, the one he did when Sam and Dean ribbed at each other without it getting heated. It was small and fond and it felt like family.

"Well, I'll call you if anything changes." Cas said. "Otherwise, I'll meet you there."

"Alright." Dean said, already missing the angel's presence. "See you there."

"Bye, Cas." Sam said before pressing the red button to end the call.

"Sounds like he's waist deep in demons, huh?"

"Yeah," said Sam, tucking the phone back into his pocket, "kinda makes you wonder how many we've got on us."

Dean shot an uneasy glance into the wing mirror. There were several cars behind them and a couple of trucks, even a motorbike, but they were in the centre of a busy town, right around clocking out time. Traffic wasn't exactly unprecedented. But which vehicles held people and which were merely meat suits? Or were they following in air, using the cover of exhaust fumes to hide? Dean didn't know, he  _couldn't_  know.

"He knows we're going after something, right?" Dean asked, testily, "I mean, we didn't just raid his library 'cause we were bored."

"I've been wondering about that too," Sam said, "why is he bothering to have us followed instead of trying to kill us?"

Dean shrugged half-heartedly, "I dunno, maybe he's waiting for Jack to show up?"

Sam shook his head, "It doesn't track. If he thinks we're hiding Jack then surely capturing us would be the best way to draw him out."

"I guess, but hey, if the big guy's not melting our organs then I'm not gonna complain."

"I mean, yeah, but why? It just doesn't add up."

"Maybe he wants to know what we're after." Dean suggested.

"What, so he's just gonna let us steal it?"

Dean let out a dark chuckle, "I doubt it."

Sam sank back into the old leather seat and stared ahead, thinking. Dean could practically hear all the gears clicking and whirring, probably powered by the all the static that his stupid amount of hair produced.

Dean turned his attention back to the road. He was still driving as recklessly as he dared, bringing out all the moves you bring out if you're trying to avoid a tail but from what Cas had said he thought it unlikely that he'd be able to shake them all. It was growing dark, the chill of the day turning frigid with the disappearance of the weak glare of the sun, pricking at his fingertips. It was still winter after all. That kind of thing was surprisingly easy to forget when they were cutting through states that ranged from desert to tundra. Not that they'd seen much snow yet, the odd smattering on the fringes of a small town and a few spots in the shadows of trees where they'd been protected from any lingering heat of the day. Plus, they lived underground with an old but decent thermostat that kept the temperature pretty neutral throughout the year.

Streetlamps began to stutter on around them, flushing the streets anaemic orange, casting strange shadows over the road and the cars around them. It would be all too easy for a demon to hide as smoke now. The thought made Dean uneasy, and he shifted his grip on the wheel, loosening his right hand slightly and casting it down so it was closer to the angel blade under the seat. He didn't like being watched; give him an honest fight any day of the week, at least then there was no need to wonder why the enemy hadn't come in for the kill yet because there they were, trying to tear your throat out. There was no uncertainty about how to beat them, not like feeling the itch of eyes on your neck, turning over all the possibilities of what they were waiting for. Yeah, this was definitely not the funnest road trip ever.

The next few hours passed quietly. Dean kept the music low, keeping his ears open for anything unusual or demon-y, though he tapped his fingers along to the beat and joined a low hum to the notes and the occasional snatch of word when he zoned into the song. Sam's breathing had slowed to a sleeping pace since their last stop. They were on an empty stretch of tarmac now, the white lines streaking by in Baby's headlights, the rest of the scenery was draped by the black of the sky. He shivered and fiddled with the old heating dial, notching it up slightly. The smell of burning dust tickled at his nostrils as the thing began to kick in.

Considering how tense he felt it was a pretty calm night. He wished he could turn off here, into that field and perch on Baby's hood to watch the stars, it had been a while since he'd done that. He'd wake Sam up too and they could sit and stare upwards until dawn like they used to, before they had things like Princes of Hell, portals to other worlds and the actual Devil to worry about. It would be nice, he thought, glancing at the field in the rear-view. They should get back into the habit of it, though maybe it would be smart to wait until spring, if they had the time.

Dean shook himself, there was something about long, silent drives in the impala that made his brain go funny places. Nothing but the open road as a distraction. He yawned into the back of his hand; gone were the days that he could drive all night and step out of the car into a case. He blinked hard and dug his knuckles into his eyes one at a time to relieve some of the irritation. He glanced over at his brother. Sam looked tense, even sleeping, propped against the passenger door, one gangly leg twisted awkwardly to accommodate it in the foot-well. There was a slight furrow between his eyes that Dean worried might be a permanent fixture, and would probably only get worse until Lucifer was dead. Dean felt a violent rage churn in his gut, longing to stab the smug son of a bitch right in the throat, tear out the voice box that had warped his brother's mind so completely that he forgot how to trust himself. Honestly, he didn't know how Sam was still standing, after just a couple of days of his reality bleeding into nightmare he'd been ready to put a bullet in his brain, hell, he  _would_  have if not for Sam and Cas. Sam had had Lucifer in his head for  _year_ _s_  and he was still willing to face him down. Dean sure as hell wasn't that strong, at least Alastair and John were dead.

Dean eased the impala over onto the rougher gravel of a driveway with a rusted gate barring access. It looked like nobody had used the gate in at least a decade but there was enough room in the hollow off the main road for Baby to make herself comfortable. He gently shut off the engine and she let out a sigh of creaks before settling into silence. Dean glanced around at where they were, the road itself was mostly deserted, only the occasional flash of headlights spiking through the dark; the place he'd pulled into was sheltered slightly by the trees that stood a little closer than he would have liked, too dense to be comforting, too prime a spot to hide. It wasn't the most secure position perhaps but unless he wanted to drive them into a ditch he needed his four hours and seeing as evil Colonel Sanders seemed to have set his demons to watch rather than kill, he figured he'd probably wake up. He thought about waking Sam and asking him to keep watch for a bit but decided against it. Sam probably needed the sleep more than he did, if those sweeps of shadow under his eyes were anything to go by. He shrugged deeper into his jacket and shifted to lean against the driver-side door with a deep exhale. It was a familiar position, if not comfortable. How many times had he drifted off like this in the backseat behind his dad? Sammy curled up next to him, streetlights a regular thrum behind his eyelids, the growl of the engine a lullaby. His own bed was nice and all but the impala cradled him more effectively than any memory foam mattress. Baby was  _home_  in a way that the bunker could never be. She'd been with them too long, carried them through too much. Even now, with the ominous rustling of leaves in the wind, with the chill settling around them as the heater cooled off, with the knowledge and fear about what was in store for them tomorrow, Dean fell asleep easily.

 

***

 

He woke with a stiff neck and a rhythmic pressure on his arm. He startled and blinked, the pressure fell away and Dean opened his eyes in time to see Sam's hand retreat.

"About time." He said, good-naturedly, "I've been prodding you for at least a minute, dude. Your reflexes are getting sloppy."

"I can still kick your ass." Dean grumbled, tasting the sour, sticky tack of his mouth and gratefully reaching for the bottle of water Sam held out to him. "What time is it?"

He swallowed a third of the bottle in one pull and swilled some around his mouth before cracking open the door to spit it onto the gravel. It had a plastic aftertaste that bit at his tongue but it was the kind that was easy to buy in bulk. Feeling a little less like something had farted in his mouth, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

"Almost seven." Sam answered, helpfully waiting until Dean was done to answer. "You wanna get going?"

"You wanna give me a minute to adjust to consciousness?" Dean snapped back, rolling his shoulder to ease some of the tightness of his muscles. "We're stopping at the first diner we see, I'm starving."

Sam huffed and crossed his arms as he settled back into the seat.

"Fine."

 

***

 

Several hours and a fried breakfast later, they cruised into Radcliff, Kentucky. As they had in several other towns, they quickly found the warehouse they needed, scoped it out, kept an eye out for demons and returned to the car, only this time they held their collective breath as they passed through and carried on down the highway out of town. They only released their tension when they were two towns over.

"It didn't look any different to the others," Sam said eventually, "which I guess is a good thing."

Dean said nothing. He  _really_ didn't like the next part of the plan.

 

***

 

They pulled into the parking lot of a motel in Asheville, North Carolina, four hours from Radcliff. Dean cut the engine but didn't let go of the wheel. They'd inspected the warehouse in this town too, taken their time over it, canvassing it out in more detail. Even spying some angel warding engraved into the brick itself around the back. According to the journals, this place housed all kinds of cursed and magic objects. Which apparently was not the same as witch magic, Dean didn't really get the logic there but whatever.

Dean stroked the wheel with his thumbs while Sam went through the notes he'd taken on the warehouse.

"We can probably assume a lot of the protective measures are the same." Sam said absently, flipping over a quick sketch of the entry points. "All of these storage places we've looked at have been almost identical, same outside defences, same number of guards. They're probably the same inside too."

"So?"

"Well… he's consistent. Consistent means predictable, right?"

"I'm not relying on a freaking Buzzfeed personality quiz to help us plan our strategy."

Sam shot him a  _don't be a dick_  look. Dean shook his head and let his hands drop from the wheel and into his lap.

"Sorry." He muttered. "Yeah, predictable is good." He drummed his fingers on his legs and checked his phone for the time. "It's past four, where is he?"

"He actually follows the rules of the road, Dean. He's gonna take longer."

"He had a good few hours to get ahead while we were taking a power nap, he should be here already."

"He'll be here." Sam reassured him. "He was scouting storage places too, maybe he got held up."

"Right." Dean pressed the word out through tight teeth. "Or maybe he's dead in a ditch with his eyes burned out."

"Don't be dramatic." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "If you're so worried, call him."

Dean seethed quietly but didn't pull out his phone. He didn't wanna call Cas only for him to swing into the parking lot, he wasn't that goddamn clingy. Still... his fingers curled and relaxed in his lap and his leg bounced nervously as they settled in to wait.

They weren't waiting long. It was less than half an hour before that cream (slightly less cream now with the mud streaked up its sides) pick-up pulled into the space next to them. Dean let out a breath he didn't remember holding and sent Cas a quick prayer, just in case, before he got out of the car.

"Pumpkin spice latte." Cas said through the open window, which was the phrase Dean had sent him. "Though I have no idea what that is."

"If a hand-knitted sweater was a drink." Dean answered, "You run into any trouble?"

Cas hopped down from the truck, coat flapping, and shook his head. Eyes tracking Sam as he moved around the impala to join them.

"No. But there were roadworks. And at one point I drove through a field." He gestured towards the crusted mud on the truck. "I doubt very much that I managed to lose all of the demons following me."

"Great. I love having an audience when we're on a mission."

Cas said nothing. Sam looked around the deserted lot as though the demons would choose now to be stupid enough to be seen. Dean folded his arms and leaned against the impala. Feeling the cold from the metal seep through his shirt and into his skin.

"I don't like this." He groused, "For the record."

"The record is well aware, Dean." Sam said, exasperated. "Especially as you wouldn't let the record drive. I'm gonna go get us a room."

"I  _really_ don't like this." Dean called after him. Sam made a rude gesture over his shoulder as he walked away.

"You did agree to the plan." Cas said, voice measured.

Dean huffed and rested a hand on the impala's hood, the trace warmth of the recently running engine was enough to flutter like a pulse under his fingers.

"Yeah," Dean said, he couldn't even be mad about it, though he was. "I know."

"It'll give us time."

"Yeah, but we don't know how much."

"We never know how much." Cas pointed out.

Dean sighed and took in Cas' grim expression.

"We'll get them back, Cas." He said softly, "One way or another, we'll get them back."

Cas flashed him a small smile.

"I know we will. I stopped doubting you a long time ago."

"Well that makes one of us." Dean joked, scuffing the toe of his boot on the tarmac. Cas shifted his weight for a moment before relaxing against his truck.

"I want to be with you on this." He said with a pained expression. Dean nudged his foot lightly with his own. Cas didn't react.

"Hey," he said, "you're with us."

"You know what I mean. I couldn't get within thirty feet of any of those warehouses, they're too strongly warded. Once you're inside I can't help you."

Dean looked the angel over. He had shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and he stared off towards the motel. He looked frustrated and tense and Dean understood.

"I get it." He said. "It sucks, but you're not being benched here."

"Am I not?"

"Hell no. You're our escape route. Without that, we're screwed."

Cas' lips quirked gratefully, but only slightly.

"I suppose."

"Seriously, Cas." Dean said, catching the angel's eye and holding it. "I feel a lot better knowing you're around."

Cas said nothing, a strange look sank in his eyes that Dean couldn't even try to decipher but the worried creases on his forehead didn't soften.

Sam emerged from the reception area then, dangling a room key from his fingers. Dean gave Baby one last pat before pushing himself off and catching the key Sam chucked his way.

"Here, help us with the bags would you, Cas?" Dean asked, digging around in the backseat and passing Cas a heavy rucksack which he slung over his shoulder with ease, then he straightened up with his own weighty bag and Sam got his from the other side.

"Right. Let's fine-tune this bitch." Dean said, locking the impala and heading straight for the room, the others falling in behind him.

They didn't stop to dump their bags on the musty smelling beds, as soon as the door locked behind them they headed directly across to the small window at the back and Cas climbed through first. Dean yanked all the curtains shut as Sam passed the bags through and Cas stowed them in the car that Sam had stolen and manoeuvred around while (hopefully) the demons' attention had been out front.

Once they were all seated, Dean pulled on an old flat cap and adopted a hunch, Sam donned a beanie and a pair of sunglasses, slouching low into the seat and holding his phone in front of his face like a bored teenager and Cas ducked out of sight. The disguises admittedly weren't great but they had needed the space in the bags for whatever weapons they might need and they were counting on the fact that no demon would look twice as some asshole's slate-grey dodge challenger. It was nowhere near as smooth a ride as Baby, that was for sure. Dean drove slow and unsuspicious until they hit the next town over, then he pressed on the gas.

The challenger was fast, he'd give it that, and fast was what they needed. If they could make it back to Radcliff in three hours then the demons probably wouldn't notice they were gone, would figure that they were just working out their plan. After all, they wouldn't just abandon their trademark mode of transport, the one with the arsenal in the trunk, the one they'd driven since before their names had become synonymous with trouble.

This sports machine might have better gadgets, might go faster and it might be the kind of car that Dean loved to admire, but it wasn't his Baby. He couldn't be quite so reckless in this car, he didn't know its limitations, how fast it could turn, how far it could go after the gas meter said empty and he didn't bother with finding out, he just went fast. Every mile felt like a betrayal, every inch closer to Kentucky was another twist of the knife. He was being stupid, it's not like they were leaving her there permanently, and getting the Seal was more important than the tradition of driving Baby into battle. But he still felt the wrench of  _wrongness_ in his gut; he had left her vulnerable, bait for any demon that might think that busting their car would be the perfect way to get one over on the Winchesters. Dean's jaw tightened at the thought.

"We're not abandoning her, Dean." Sam said, placing a hand on his arm, apparently having noticed his thunderous expression. "We'll go get her as soon as this is over."

Dean grunted but didn't speak, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead as Sam settled back into the leather seat with a creak. Sam understood, he was the only other person in the world who  _could_  understand, but that didn't mean he wanted platitudes.

They'd been driving for just over an hour and they were already nearly halfway back to Radcliff. Cas was kneeling on the backseat like a damn labrador, scanning out the rear window for any sign of black smoke.

"I don't think they're following us." He said eventually, twisting gracefully to fall back onto the seat, "I can't sense them like I could at the motel and it's unlikely they'd guess we were going back in the direction we came from, seeing as it's a very stupid thing to do."

"Well, at least we've got that going for us." Sam said with a wry grin.

"Stupid moves are kind of our thing." Dean agreed, his tension easing slightly as they passed the halfway mark. The humour helped, it reminded him of every time they had done this before, driving into the unknown with a hair-thin plan and stakes as high as Everest. It was more comfortable a feeling than he would like. "Sometimes they even work out."

"The benefits of probability." Cas deadpanned.

"Exactly."

 

***

 

It took them a further two hours twenty minutes to get back to Radcliff and Cas was sure they hadn't been followed. He didn't sense any more demons until they got closer to the warehouse. Dean parked a block away, approaching on foot was the stealthier move and if they could put off getting spotted for as long as possible then the guards would have less chance to go telling tales to the big man downstairs. They collected their packs, rummaging through for the essentials; holy water, salt, a spare angel blade and a few extra bits, just in case. They also each had a few pieces of cloth to use to pick the Seal up with. No way were they touching that thing with bare skin after what had happened with the fruit.

Cas came with them to the edge of the block, peering around the corner and then dropping back with a confused frown.

"I only saw three demons guarding the entrance." He said, "That's less than any of the others had."

Dean exchanged a look with his brother.

"There were more than that last we checked." Sam said. "Seven at least."

"Maybe they've gone to back up the lot back in Asheville." Dean suggested. "That's the only town with one of these storage places we actually stopped at, might've raised a few hackles."

"Maybe." Sam said doubtfully. "Either way, I'm counting it as a blessing. The less we have to deal with, the happier I'll be. We need to get the Seal, no matter what."

"I don't like it." Said Cas, unnecessarily. "It could mean any number of things. Be careful, both of you, and _please_  try and break the warding."

"Cas, you know we might not have time-"

"-I know. Just… keep praying, alright? I want to know what's going on."

"We will." Sam assured him.

Dean nodded, his attention back on the warehouse. It was a squat, ugly building but at least it looked pretty easy to navigate. He was personally hoping for one big room full of stuff but failing that, it couldn't be too much of a maze inside with all that dull concrete, right? He wasn't too sure of the logic of that thought but whatever, it felt right.

He hefted his pack and Sam followed suit. They left Cas by the car, holding a sniper rifle that looked unwieldy in his usually adept hands and Dean felt his eyes on the back of his neck right up until they turned the corner. He and Sam crept forward as quickly as they could. The demons Cas had pointed out were strategically placed; two of them with a direct line of sight to the front door, one paced like a rottweiler around the front section of the chain link fence while the other sat on a rickety stool, looking bored. The remaining demon overlooked the back, reclining on the wall of a neighbouring building with a newspaper unconvincingly open under his nose. They could all see each other so the chances of taking even one of them by surprise were slim to none, especially with the open space they'd have to cross. It was lucky about the reduced numbers but Dean couldn't bring himself to relax, he didn't trust in luck. Their first move was getting past the fence, in of itself an easy task but if they were seen they wouldn't be close enough to go in for the kill before the alarm was raised.

The brothers crept around the fence at a distance, using parked cars for cover, to find a possible entry point, keeping well out of the way of the pacing guard at the front. Only one section of fence was out of sight of the demons, along the left hand side of the building. Dean gave Sam a  _here goes nothing_  look and Sam passed him a pair of wire cutters. He snipped his way up, pausing after each shudder and subsequent metallic rattle of the fence, his heart beating in his throat every time the cutters snapped through the wire. He could feel the tension leaking from Sam as he kept watch but no demons came to check out the noise, hopefully any sounds they made could be put down to the wind, gentle as it was, or even better, drowned out by the congested traffic a few blocks over. Once Dean had cut high enough for Sam to be able to comfortably duck through, he eased one side of the fence out and held it open for Sam, who slipped inside and hurried to brace himself against the concrete wall of the warehouse proper. Dean did the same, pulling the fence to behind him and arranging it so that from a distance, even a demon's eyes shouldn't notice the cut wires. Then he joined Sam and together, they inched in the direction of the back entrance. They stopped before turning the corner and Sam nodded to him.

 

 _Alright Cas,_  Dean prayed,  _you're up._

 

Before Dean had even finished his prayer, there was a loud crash as a window exploded in a spray of glass.

"The hell?" came a muffled voice, then, the scrunch of newspaper pages falling to the floor and footsteps sprinting away.

 

_Nice one._

 

Sam and Dean didn't hesitate, using the distraction they scurried forward and Sam hurriedly picked the lock on the flimsy back door and then, they were in.

The low buzz of florescent lighting filled the room, so strong that Dean had to take a moment to reorient himself as his head seemed to vibrate with the sound. At least it was well lit. He quietly pressed the door shut with his hip and pulled out an iron blade as Sam palmed the Ruby's knife. He'd prefer his gun, of course, loaded as it was with salt rounds, but as even their shallow breathing seemed to echo in here, a gunshot would be deafening.

They took a moment to look around before moving. They were indeed in a large room, full of shelves which were stacked with objects of every size and shape but the room itself wasn't big enough to be the entire warehouse. In the direction of the front door a wall stopped short, indicating that there was at least one more room beyond. Dean edged forward, Sam behind him and they stepped carefully through the shelves, heading in the vague direction of Cas' makeshift map. It might be off, but the logic behind it was sound, and unless they happened to stumble upon the Seal on the way over there, they had nowhere else to start.

Sam craned his neck to look at the items on the top shelves while Dean scanned the lower ones; there was a real mix of stuff: chunks of rock, chipped blades, even a few books, all neatly placed but not for display. To Dean's pleased surprise there were actually labels for each item, clearly Asmodeus' memory was fallible. Good to know. Not that the thin strips of laminated paper said more than the title of the thing but it was enough.

 

 _We're in_ , he sent to Cas,  _but this might take a while. Get comfy._

 

They had to move slowly, it took them several minutes to check even one shelf which made Dean edgy; if Cas' map turned out to be completely wrong then they wouldn't have time to search the whole warehouse. Eventually the demons back in North Carolina would realise that their most wanted weren't there and send out a BOLO, and someone was gonna report that sweet-ass car stolen at some point.

Unease curled at the back of Dean's neck as they crept through the stacks, there was a charge in the air that he didn't like; it tickled the hair on his arms, raising gooseflesh and straining his nerves like a piece of plywood stretched to just before the point of snapping. Some of the relics looked innocuous enough, like they might be nothing more than fancy paperweights, others seemed to saturate the very air with ancient power that made Dean's mouth go dry. He wasn't keen on the lack of defences inside either, it made him feel like he was missing something, like there was a speck of shadow in the corner of his eye that he couldn't quite focus on. If there was any angel warding in here, it was hidden from human eyes. Sam seemed equally nervous, placing every footstep with deliberation as though he wasn't quite certain that the floor was going to remain solid. When they got to the end of the first set of shelves, Dean poked his head into the aisle to check for anything black-eyed and angry but all he could see were more shelves. Tentatively, reluctant to leave the safety of the racks, Dean crossed to the row opposite. When no warning shout went up, Sam followed him, looking confused, a muscle in his jaw twitching; clearly, he didn't like not being able to see the danger either.

They worked their way around methodically without speaking. They were careful not to touch any of the objects and tried to keep their eyes out for traps but after what must have been a quarter of an hour the only movement other than them remained the dancing of the dust motes floating lazily in the heavy lighting and Dean began to, if not relax, then at least steady his heartbeat a little. They passed a statue of a creature with three sets of giant wings and about seven eyes. It was only barely humanoid with limbs long and too-thin and a seemingly fluid torso that transferred, even sculpted in clay; it had other faces branching off too, almost as an afterthought of the artist, that were the faces of animals. Dean could make out a zebra, a cricket, a fox and… was that an orca? Intrigued, he squinted at the label.  _Statue of an angel_ , it read. Dean pointed it out to Sam, indicating that they must be in the right section if angels were involved, and sent a mental snapchat to Cas.

 

_Is this you?_

 

They began looking in earnest then, inspecting every item carefully, re-reading every label. Although it might have been quicker for them to split up, Dean had to admit that Sam's height advantage was too important. It was best to be thorough rather than quick right now, besides, if something did decide to come at them, he'd rather have Sam at his back. They were four rows into the apparent 'Christianity' section when Sam tapped on his shoulder rapidly, pointing to the very top shelf, his eyes wide with wonder and relief. Hurriedly, Dean passed him some cloth and watched, holding his breath, as Sam reverently placed it over the object he had seen and then covered it with his palm, lifting it off the shelf.

Just as Sam turned to grin at him, huge and bright and so goddamn happy, a low growl sounded that sent cold terror shooting into the spot where Dean's spine attached to his skull. Sam's smile vanished, replaced with pure horror.

Dean's heart sputtered as hot, damp breath hit the back of his neck, filling his nose with the rancid stench of meat left out in the sun. He stared at his brother who was frozen in fear, eyes scanning behind Dean for a danger he could only hear, clutching tight to the small bundle of cloth in his hands. Dean's eyes flicked to the cloth; the whole reason they were here, the way to reunite their broken little family, the way to take down Lucifer, the thing that Sam wanted most in this world. Dean tasted bile as he sent out a prayer to Cas.

 

_Hellhound._

 

"Run." He mouthed to Sam, slowly reaching for his hip with his right hand and grasping the hilt of the iron blade in his belt. Sam hesitated a moment longer, then he whirled around and sprinted in the direction of the door, cradling the Seal to his chest, footsteps and muttered curses reverberating around the concrete walls. The movement snapped something in the beast behind Dean and it leapt with a snarl, just as Dean spun to slash at it with his blade, it caught something and blood sprayed, a yelp of pain ringing throughout the cavernous space. Then, invisible paws connected to his chest, all four of them, the thing was going to use Dean as a damn springboard. Before Dean could do anything about it, he was on the ground, head snapping back to collide with the hard, cement floor, suffocating, feeling his ribs shatter under the pressure of the creature on top of him, its weight shifted as it prepared to jump again, to take off in the direction of the thief. Dean yelled as loud as his lungs would allow and he heard his name echoed back to him; Sam.

Dean grabbed blindly in the empty air and his fingers closed on what felt like a hind leg. He yanked it as hard as he could, drawing a surprised whine from the dog and a heavy thump as it fell to the ground; adrenaline dulled the pain that the action should have caused, even as blood spurted from his mouth, droplets of it landing on the bitch in front of him, giving it, if not a form exactly then at least somewhere to stick his knife. He stabbed down into the struggling beast, feeling that sick satisfaction when the blade sunk through the wire-like fur and deep into muscle until it chipped bone. The hellhound's howl sounded more like a scream and if Dean had had the hands to spare he would have clapped them over his ears, but just as quickly as the howl cut off, heavy jaws closed on his arm holding the knife, shaking it, making his whole body jerk with the motion. Dean knew he was done for; teeth in his flesh, bleeding out from the inside, the taste of iron, and he was pretty sure both his lungs were punctured considering the way he was wheezing. He felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen, it pulsed a migraine into his skull and all he could think of was that he would never know if that statue had been of someone he knew. His chest was tight, his throat choked with blood and blackness began to take over his vision. He heard the snap of a door being flung open and smiled, despite himself, blood coating his teeth. Sam was safe, he could gank a couple of demons and he had the Seal, he would get Mary and Jack home and together they'd kill Lucifer and save the world.

 

_He's got it. Get him out of here._

 

Muffled shouts came from beyond the concrete box he was in, and a series of bangs… was that gunfire? It was hard to focus with the way the demon's best friend was tearing at his arm while his hand, somehow, still held on to the knife embedded in the animal's leg. The hellhound released its jaws, seeming to realise that all it was doing was helping Dean carve deeper into its own leg and bucked instead, trying to shake him off so it could drag itself after Sam. The movement was violent and Dean had to release the blade and the hellhound bounded through the stacks, following the scent trail Sam had left, winding through the shelves. Dean couldn't follow, couldn't do much but lie there and listen. The door opened again, a demon probably come to see what all the ruckus was about.

"Dean?!" Sam called. Dean's blood, what was left of it, ran cold.

"No." He gasped out, the words barely audible, even to himself, pushing on his lungs painfully, "Sammy get out of here."

 

_He came back, why did you let him come back?_

 

"Dean, where are you?" The cadence of his brother's voice was fast, worried. Dean crawled to the edge of the row, pulling himself along on one arm and scrabbling for purchase with his feet. He glanced down towards the door Sam had come by. His brother stood there, looking around, spotting the trail of blood, his face grey and afraid, and there, only a few feet away from him, hidden from Sam behind the first lot of shelves, the glint of an iron hilt, suspended in what seemed to be mid-air.

Dean couldn't see if Sam still had the Seal, honestly, nor did he much care, all he knew was that Sam was about five seconds away from becoming a chew-toy. Dean didn't have time to think or rationalise, he struggled to his knees, put his shoulder to the shelf, and heaved with all of his remaining strength. His chest burned, his vision whited out and he collapsed with the effort, but he heard the shelf scrape against the floor as it teetered on the edge, and then it fell, and like he had hoped, like one of those scenes from The Mummy movies, there was a deafening crash as priceless relics fell to the floor, as the shelves toppled into each other, history destroyed by a goddamn nudge. A sharp yelp that cut off, and a blast of power that knocked Dean onto his face, and then all was still. Dean's body shuddered as blood pooled around him, falling from his mouth in a steady stream, white noise overpowering anything else he might hear. His eyes were closed and he didn't remember closing them. The concrete beneath him was hard and wet with his own blood and he felt something that he hadn't felt as he lay dying in a very long time. Disappointment.

 

 _I don't wanna die._  He thought. It might have left his mind as a prayer, he wasn't sure but he was relieved to think the words. Then he stopped thinking anything at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Thoughts?
> 
> This chapter definitely took several unexpected turns that kept getting me stuck, I hope you think it worked.
> 
> All feedback is stored in a warehouse in Kentucky and lovingly dusted once a week.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I almost didn't think I'd live to see the day... we have come to the end, my friends, the final chapter.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking through me on this 80k word rollercoaster. This is the longest fic I've ever done to date. It's been insane and engulfing and terrifying and bang-head-against-wall-ing. But it was worth it, to get here.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

When Dean came to, he didn't open his eyes immediately. He was still lying on the cement floor of the warehouse, the blood had congealed into a sticky mess that itched where his face had been lying in it. His mouth was still coated with it, cold and thick on his tongue, the smell of charred flesh and something more visceral than electricity stung at his nostrils. He might have puked if the effort of moving wasn't lost to him. His heart beat sluggishly against the points of his fractured ribs, which… he guessed was a good thing. The florescent lights still buzzed, a piercing vibration in his ears, and beyond that, barking and the sound of scrabbling claws that he knew should have sent adrenaline shooting through him, fight or flight. But there was always a third option when confronted of course, the one that his body seemed to have chosen, possibly because it was incapable of anything else. Under the snarls of the hellhounds he heard shouting, it was faint, but if he strained, and really, there wasn't much else for him to do other than die, he could just make out words.

"The warding! Sam! Break the warding!"

His lungs still weren't working right. How had he even woken up? He couldn't be getting enough oxygen to sustain movement; God, he sounded like such a nerd, wait… he sounded like Sam, or Cas, Cas was a big nerd too. He really didn't feel good, being a nerd didn't agree with him. Or maybe it was the lack of functioning internal organs… that might have something to do with it too but it was probably mostly the nerd thing.

A wet, hacking whine came from his mouth as he tried to take a full breath.

"Dean? Hey, Dean, are you with me?" Sam's terrified voice was probably the only thing that could have made his eyelids flutter open in that moment. As his brother scrambled towards him from nearby, Dean caught a glimpse of the ruined shelves, charred dog bones sticking out from the rubble and a line of white on the concrete before Sam came into his line of blurry sight, a small, relieved smile snapping onto his face like elastic.

"Oh thank God."

"Chuck's got nothing to do with it." Dean tried to say, but all that came out was a pained gurgle. Sam's smile slipped.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay."

Dean would have laughed if he had the air.

"I didn't wanna move you." Sam continued, and for the first time Dean noticed how pale he was, he must look pretty bad, "There's at least two hellhounds at the front door and one at the back too so I can't carry you out. I put devil's shoestring over the doors and salted them, it should hold them for now."

Well that explained the white smudge on the floor. Dean took more care this time, pushing what air he could from his chest to form actual sounds.

"Seal."

"I've got it here." Sam said, pulling the cloth half out of his jacket pocket before tucking it back in.

"Should've run."

"Don't be an idiot, I wasn't gonna just leave you." Sam said gruffly, using a spare piece of cloth from one of their bags to dab ineffectively at the congealed blood on his face. Dean saw the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed; he  _really_  mustn't look good, especially as Sam seemed terrified to actually move him. Dean couldn't blame him really, he didn't think moving would be the best idea either.

"You said," he hissed through his teeth. Along with the words came the high-pitched squeak of a balloon with a puncture. Oh yeah, this was super dignified, "important."

"So are you!" Sam insisted, "Stop talking."

"Mom."

"Getting Mom back won't mean very much if I have to lose you to make it happen." Sam said fiercely. "I realised that when I was halfway out of here. We'll get them back  _together_ , Dean. Turns out, I'm not willing to trade your life for Mom and Jack's. I won't do it."

"Bitch." Dean wheezed, and if a tear leaked from his eye... well he could easily put it down to the pain. Sam's lips flicked upwards.

"Jerk." He replied.

Dean twitched his lips in the least convincing boyish grin ever and even that brief exertion made his eyes roll back into his skull with the pain of it. He really didn't have the energy to waste on anything other than breathing, and even that sucked.

Sam's face scrunched into a worried frown and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction the front door, which was shaking and banging as the hellhounds outside threw themselves against the splintering wood.

"We've gotta get you to Cas." Sam said quietly. "The angel warding was in that room, if I can break it-"

"No."

"Dean-"

"Sammy."

"You're in no condition to argue with me here." Sam said, pulling a shotgun out of his bag. "We've already lost the element of surprise, Cas took out two of the demons with those devil's trap bullets but the third smoked out. Asmodeus could be here any second and you're bleeding out and I'm pretty sure all of your organs are mush. I can't get you out, so I have to make sure Cas can come in, so I need to break the warding, it's the only way. Those doors won't last forever anyway." He slid the angel blade out of Dean's waistband and shifted it in his grip, testing the weight. Then, he pulled out an ordinary pair of reading glasses and doused the lenses in holy oil. Dean watched as Sam flipped open a lighter and drew his thumb over the wheel a few times before it caught. Sam looked so sure of himself as he burned the lenses with holy fire, steel in his expression, his movements precise and practiced. Once he dubbed them ready, he put the glasses on and turned back to Dean.

"I'll re-draw the salt circle around you." He said. "Just hold on until I get back."

"Don't."

Sam scoffed over the tremor in his voice, pulling a hammer out of seemingly nowhere and shoving it into his belt. "You've already saved my life today, Dean, gotta even the playing field."

 _Don't let him do this._  Dean begged, though what exactly Cas could do about it, he didn't know. He tried to raise his head, to push himself up, say that he could make it out the back where there was only one of those things, instead he just kind of flopped a little. Great, he was freaking Magikarp, though he did manage to hold his head up slightly and meet his brother's eyes.

Sam's hand slid under his head as cushion when the strength in his neck gave out before he could crack it on the floor again.

"Dean, look. I'm going out there anyway, whether you like it or not, just... just don't die on me, okay?"

Dean lay there, immobile, staring up at his brother with concern sloshing through his veins, but underneath that there was pride. Of course Sam was doing this, Sam had never been able to sit back twiddling his thumbs when someone needed saving. Dean knew it, he'd always known it, ever since he was five years old and they'd been walking back to the motel of the month from the school of the month, it had been early summer and had rained the night before so there were worms and snails and slugs abound on the sidewalk. Sammy had stopped to pick up every single one and gently place it back in the grass. Dean had tried to tug him along, impatient, wanting to get back to the room to watch Scooby Doo on the crappy old TV.

"Come  _on_ , Sammy." He'd moaned as Sam stopped once again to rescue a worm, "Someone else is just gonna step on 'em tomorrow."

Sam had looked up at him then, his big, stormy eyes solemn as he knelt, letting the little pink creature wriggle off his palm into the safety of the grass.

"Maybe." He said, "But I can save them today."

Dean had missed Scooby Doo that night.

 

***

 

When Dean refocused on the room of the warehouse, or what little he could see, Sam was gone. He listened intently for any sounds of a fight, for hellhounds yelping, for Sam screaming, for anything. But his ears rang with the rattle of his own breath, the liquid pulse of of his chest and those damn lights. That wasn't good. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake, especially without Sam to distract him from the pain. Dean's eyelids fell shut, there was nothing to see anyway, more than half of his vision had fallen into shadow, despite the incessant buzzing of the lights overhead, or was that just his head?

He began to shiver, either with the cold concrete seeping into his broken bones or with shock, but each violent burst of involuntary movement was a torture on par with those early days in Hell, before they had realised that they had needed to step up their game.

Still, it really hurt.

His thoughts got fuzzier, harder to understand, harder still to form into words that he knew. The taste of cold, wet rust was in his mouth, each laboured breath was an agony so sharp that he decided maybe he should stop doing that. The dull thumping around his chest slowed, a dim bang, irregular and strangely echo-y. It didn't sound or feel like his heartbeat but then again, his senses couldn't exactly be trusted.

Another shudder pushed through him, squeezing out the very last of his air. He convulsed, his body going through the motions of clinging on to life but wouldn't inhale. Stupid body.

After that, everything slowed; even the buzzing of the lights seemed more relaxing, like a honeybee in spring. He felt so  _heavy_  all of a sudden and sleep sounded like a very good idea. It would be so easy; if he was asleep he couldn't hurt, or worry, or shiver. Sleeping would actually solve pretty much all of his immediate problems. Why had he fought this? Screw consciousness, consciousness sucked.

A muffled, low rumble sounded from far away, followed by a metallic bang. Then, the rumble was back, closer and clearer and less of a rumble, it was louder, a shout, his name? A sudden, light pressure on his face trailed sparks of familiar warmth, tracing from his hairline and down the curve of his jaw, coming to a weighty rest on his cheek as a soft blue glow began to kindle behind his eyelids. He gasped, his back arched, his head raising itself from the concrete and although the movement sent spikes of pain through his torso, air flooded into his lungs and stayed there; it still tasted like iron after pushing through the clots of blood still in his throat but it was enough to bring a semblance of clarity to his oxygen-deprived brain.

"Dean?" Cas' voice was fuzzy, like he was in between radio stations. "Can you hear me? Can you walk?"

Dean groaned in response and shifted his arms so that his hands were flat against the floor by his shoulders, fortunately they moved without too much complaint, then he gulped in more air and pushed, muscles straining. He managed to get maybe four inches off the floor before he collapsed, but by then Cas, who had apparently decided that Dean, in fact, could not walk, slipped his own arms under the hunter's and pulled him up, then, as Dean struggled to get his legs under himself Cas scooped him up easily so he was being cradled like a damn baby. He made an indignant noise and cracked his eyes open. He had to blink a few times to get them to focus and everything on the edges stayed blurry, but Cas' expression was all sharp lines and creases. Dean jostled as Cas set off at a run as though Dean was no heavier than a cumbersome bag of feathers and Dean hissed in pain at the movement. Cas glanced down at him and his face softened.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, "Sam only broke a small part of the warding. It was enough to let me in but my powers are impeded. I'll be able to heal you fully once we're out of here."

"Sammy?" Dean choked, dreading the answer.

"He's fine. He'd already killed one hellhound before he could let me in, I finished the other. He's taking care of the trapped demons now."

Relief washed through him and he nodded, allowing his head to rest more comfortably on Cas' chest, just savouring each breath he was able to take, categorising the smells of blood and roasting chestnuts and sulphur and woodsmoke and something salty and fresh, like the sea. It gave him something to focus on. The steady thrum of Cas' grace helped too and he soaked up the warmth like a freaking heat sponge, his shivers of shock subsiding. It wasn't until a gentle breeze brushed through his hair that Dean even opened his eyes again but when he did, he actually looked around. The bodies of demons and a blood-soaked lump of what Dean assumed to be the final hellhound were strewn around the yard, a gap the size of Texas had been torn in the fence by angel-strengthened hands and Sam was ahead of them, limping in the direction of the challenger, his jacket hung from him in shreds and he left a trail of blood where he stepped. Cas caught him up easily and allowed Sam to lean part of his weight on his shoulder so they could hustle a little faster.

"Any sign of Asmodeus?" Cas asked when they reached the car and Sam transferred his weight to the chrome instead, opening the back door and gesturing for Cas to put Dean inside. The door didn't creak and Dean didn't like it, but he didn't complain as Cas laid him carefully on the soft leather. It even  _smelled_  wrong, Dean had always hated that new-car smell, it was too sharp and it gave him a headache; nowhere near as comforting as Baby's smell of oil and blood and whiskey. He shifted to try and get more comfortable and only suceeded in jarring his insides.

Sam shook his head, glancing down worriedly at Dean's wince.

"Not yet, though I give it maybe a few minutes at most. How is he?"

"He can hear you." Dean grumbled. Sam rolled his eyes but turned back to Cas, still leaning heavily on the car. Looks like something got his leg pretty good. Damn hellhounds. They were definitely in the top five on the list of Dean's Least Favourite Things.

"Not good but he'll live. The warding was strong, it weakened me to even enter that place; we need to get as much distance as possible. I can heal him a little more now and then-"

"Heal Sammy first."

"What?" Sam looked incredulously down at his brother. "Dude, you can't be serious, you can barely move."

"Sam first." Dean growled through gritted teeth.

Cas looked between them, then, with a furious glare at Dean, touched his fingers to Sam's temple. After a moment, Sam tested his weight on the leg and used it to square up against Cas.

"The hell did you do that for?"

"You're driving." Cas said, by way of a response, folding himself into the back, manoeuvring Dean out of the way. "I can sit with Dean in the back and heal him as soon as I'm able. I also didn't want to spend the next hour listening to him whine about it."

Sam scoffed and got into the driver's seat, letting out a low whistle as he took the wheel in hand.

"Man, I like this car." He said, starting up the engine with a few unnecessary revs.

"Traitor." Dean mumbled; his head rested on Cas' thigh, the slight elevation of his head helped with the blood still lodged in his throat, keeping his airways clear enough to keep breathing.

"Go." Cas barked, placing one of his hands on Dean's chest, bracing him against the jolt as the car sped into an immediate U-turn. Dean still groaned at the feeling of his organs sliding around inside him, apparently untethered to anything.

"Son of a bitch."

"It's alright, Dean." Cas said softly. Dean met his eyes through the haze of pain, blinking stupidly up at the angel. Cas' face was grim but there was a softness to his eyes that Dean found soothing. "I've got you."

Cas' hand stayed on his chest, grounding him, feeding him pulses of grace every few moments that dulled the edges of his pain but didn't do much to actually heal him. That warding must have taken more out of him than he was letting on. That thought, coupled with the fact that only a couple of days ago Cas had drained himself of practically all of his grace in order to save Dean, sent a pang through his chest that had nothing to do with his ribs. And now Cas was keeping himself weak to act as a damn aspirin. He tried to argue that he was fine and that if Asmodeus decided to chase after them they'd need Cas at his full power, but as he'd barely been able to form the words without pausing to gasp in pain, Cas had merely raised an eyebrow and Dean fell silent.

"Even at my full strength, I'm hardly a match for Asmodeus." Cas said quietly, after a moment. "I won't make a difference if he follows us. But I can make a difference to you now, so I'd rather help ease your pain."

"You always make a difference to me." Dean muttered sleepily. The calming presence of the angel's grace mingled with his own exhaustion as the adrenaline of the job leaked away to make a cocktail of tired that apparently stopped his brain from working, he felt his face heat up and hoped that Cas didn't notice, but when Dean flicked his eyes upwards, he saw the warm smile on Cas' face and he couldn't bring himself to regret his words. The hand not on Dean's chest hand trailed to his forehead, his fingers slipping into his hair. He repeated the action and Dean closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the way his stomach did the nice kind of backflip and giving himself over to the feeling of being safe and cared for. The rumble of Cas' voice was the last thing he heard before he drifted off.

"Rest, Dean."

 

***

 

When Dean woke, he felt much better. His throat was clear, his pain was gone and Cas was still stroking his hair. Dean opened his eyes a sliver, then recoiled as they passed a streetlight.

"What time'ssit?" He mumbled, a little disappointed when Cas' hand had vanished when he moved.

"A little after ten." Cas answered him. "You've been asleep for about six hours."

"Asmodeus still a no-show?" he asked, sitting up and relishing in the lack of pain. He twisted his torso experimentally, nothing. Awesome. "Thanks for fixing me up, Cas."

"No sign of him." Sam answered from the front. "Hopefully those extra-strength hex bags I put in the trunk should keep us hidden, though we should probably switch cars soon, just to be safe."

Dean huffed and shifted his butt over so he was in the passenger-side seat.

"We heading straight back to the bunker?"

"We thought it would be best." Cas said. "We need to get the Seal safe as soon as possible."

"You still got it?" Dean's eyes widened, "Your jacket-"

Sam laughed brightly, catching his eye in the rear-view.

" _You've_  got it, dumbass. I slipped it in your pocket before going out there. To be fair, you were pretty out of it."

Dean patted himself down and sure enough, there was a lump in his jacket that wasn't a weapon he remembered putting there. He shoved his hand in and pulled out the cloth wrapped Seal of Solomon.

"Well holy crap," Dean said, stunned, a breathless little laugh bubbling up from his chest, "we did it."

"Of course we did." Sam said. "We wanted it, right?"

Dean's face split into a wide grin.

"Damn straight."

 

***

 

It was a couple more hours before they left the challenger in a ditch and switched it out for a less conspicuous ford model. Sam was reluctant as he transferred the hex bags over and spent the next half an hour bemoaning the loss before Dean perked him up by reminding him that the garage back home was stocked full of fancy cars he could joyride if he wanted. Dean had taken over driving in the switch and for once, Sam opted for the backseat so he could actually lie down for a while.

"Aww, look at him, all tuckered out." Dean teased when soft snores began to sound from behind him. The ford was a piece of crap so he actually had to keep to the speed limit lest the whole thing overheat. The engine juddered rhythmically as they cruised along the highway. Cas rested his head on his hand, his elbow propped on the edge of the window, but his gaze jumped back inside the car as Dean spoke and he turned to look at the sleeping yeti in the backseat. He huffed a chuckle.

"Well it has been a rather exciting day. And he only stopped for coffee once while you were asleep."

"Only once?" Dean let out a disbelieving whistle.

"I was surprised as well. Though he also bought…" Cas stooped to rummage around in the footwell for a moment before emerging with a gas station sandwich. "He figured you might be hungry when you woke up."

"He figured right, give it here."

Cas unwrapped the sandwich before handing it over so Dean wouldn't have to resort to tearing at the packaging with his teeth. Dean took a huge bite and chewed gratefully; it wasn't particularly good, dry slices of processed beef and a few limp leaves but it was better than nothing. He drove one-handed as he ate, and glanced over at the angel, who had returned to staring out of the window.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Mmm."

"That's not an 'okay' kinda noise. Did that warding make your grace go all screwy or something?"

"No." Cas replied, "I mean, yes, it did but its effects wore off hours ago."

"So what then?"

"I'm not sure." Cas said, finally tearing his eyes away from the oh-so-fascinating fields that they were passing. "Is it strange if I say that I'm more worried now than I was before we got the Seal?"

Dean bobbed his head from side to side, considering the question.

"I don't think so." He decided, "I mean, we've still got a lot left to do, with figuring out a way to get some of Lucifer's archangel red bull and all."

"Red bull?"

"It gives you wiiiiings." Dean said, imitating the stupid commercial. It was a lame joke and it earned him an eye roll.

"No, Cas, it's not weird that you're worried about what comes next. But it's okay to celebrate the win we just got too."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what?"

Cas sighed and glanced at him, then looked away again just at quickly.

"I almost lost you today." He said quietly, staring down at his own hands, which were twisting together in his lap.

That took Dean aback.

"It wasn't the first time," he said carefully, "not even the first time this week."

"No. But it just keeps getting harder."

"Harder?"

"There are a lot of things unsaid between us." Cas said, raising his eyes to stare straight ahead. "Feelings that we hold on to because we seem to have decided that they shouldn't be given voice. The resentments and the uncertainty and the anger we push aside because those things don't matter when we stand together. And the rest never needed to be spoken and I wasn't even sure I could express it correctly if I tried.

"But I've realised that keeping those things unspoken will only lead to regret if, next time you are in danger, and there will be a next time, I am too late or too slow or incapable of saving you."

Cas took a shuddering breath then, as though the thought caused him physical pain. Dean's mouth had gone dry as he stared at the angel, only paying the barest minimum attention to the road as he slowed the car to a crawl.

"I'm worried because I know that those things have the power to change everything, and I know that you would be more comfortable if they remain unsaid, but... I don't know, you've been more open lately and I thought-"

"I love you."

Cas' head whipped around so fast that Dean actually flinched, though whether that was from the movement or from the words that just came tumbling out of his mouth with no warning he really couldn't tell. Either way, his foot jerked on the brake and Sam let out a startled grunt as he jolted awake.

"Asmodeus?" He slurred sleepily.

"No, Sam, sorry, my foot just slipped." Dean said, correcting his mistake and directing his eyes straight ahead while he tried to ignore the way that Cas was staring at him, and the way that he could feel himself blushing up to his ears.

"S'okay. How long was I out?"

"Not long enough." Cas muttered under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Just a couple of hours." Dean said loudly, cutting over Cas, who, apparently, was pissed that Dean had interrupted his whole 'I need to air my resentment before I explode' speech.

Sam stretched his over-long arms as much as he could in the cramped backseat with a loud series of groans that, ordinarily, Dean would have ribbed at him for but instead he just let it happen, fearing the silence and what Cas might say to break it. He dared a glance over at the angel, whose shock of a few moments ago had morphed into the tight-jawed pout of pissy attitude that he got when he felt some great injustice was being done to him, personally. Dean almost smiled at the expression, then he remembered that he had caused it and was less amused. He shouldn't have said anything. He should've just let Cas say his piece without interrupting but he had just looked over at the wrong time, with Cas staring ahead earnestly, those endless eyes reflecting the pink and blue flashing neon sign of a diner, his forehead wrinkled with worry, his hands gently pulling at the edge of his coat. It was an image so strong that he had opened his mouth to speak and, like when he had asked Cas to stay the other night, the confession had left his mouth before he could stop it.

Well he had just made the three hours they had left in the car incredibly awkward. In fact, if it wasn't for Sam, who, after a few minutes of letting the quiet settle, apparently felt the tension and leaned forward to turn on the radio, announcing that the 'Driver picks the music' rule didn't apply when they weren't in the impala. ("We'll stage a rescue mission for her after, okay?") It was a crappy pop music station, the kind that Cas normally enjoyed when he wasn't irritated at his friend's ability to completely derail what Dean was sure were very well-reasoned points that Cas needed to get off his chest. He'd been caught up in the moment and ruined everything and of  _course_  there was going to be fallout from that. His only hope now was damage control, which he refused to attempt until they had some privacy but he'd be damned if he was going to let this be the thing that pushed Cas away for good. Something had to be salvageable, help on cases at the very least, staying in the bunker was perhaps too much to hope for but still he hoped. Maybe he could ask Cas to just ignore it completely? Of course, it would sting like a bitch to see him wandering around the bunker with that knowledge but it would be worth it to keep him around, and it's not like he'd ever expected anything different, not that he'd been planning to actually  _say_  anything but whatever, he couldn't unsay it now.

Just before they hit Lebanon, they left the crappy ford in a movie theatre parking lot with no security cameras and got out to make the long trek back to the bunker. It wouldn't do to have a stolen car traced back to them in their own town. Dean lagged behind the other two, partly because of Sam's stupidly long moose legs and Cas' lack of human fatigue but when Cas finally slowed his gait to fall in step with him, Dean sped up. It was a ridiculous dance that made sure Sam was always a buffer. Dean wasn't 100% sure why he was acting like a damn pre-schooler except for the fact that Sam started teasing him for being out so out of shape that he turned the colour of watermelon when faced with a brisk walk. Dean took the banter gracefully, which of course meant that he grumbled 'shut up' and shoved Sam so that he stumbled, no longer grinning.

"So, what? I fall asleep for a few hours and now you and Cas are fighting?" He asked, incredulous, "Did you both skip the part where we  _won_?"

"We haven't won until the Seal is safe." Dean shot back. "Or did  _you_  skip the part where Asmodeus knows where we live and would probably guess we'd come back here?"

Sam blanched at that and looked around. His comment had mainly been to get Sam off his back but now the words were in the air, the truth of them hit home and their previously casual stroll turned quick and tense. There weren't many people out at this time of night but there were enough drunks stumbling from bar to bar for them to be watched. Though why Asmodeus would be content with mere spying, particularly after they just stole his stuff and killed his pets, Dean couldn't fathom.

When they finally,  _finally_  reached the bunker, Dean tossed Sam the Seal and the younger Winchester darted inside with nary a glance back at them, holding the bundle of cloth in front of him like a stick of dynamite. It would have been comedic if Dean wasn't so bone-tired. Some of the tension evaporated from his shoulders as Sam crossed the threshold. Well, the Seal was as safe as they could get it now. Mission over. Go team. Then he turned to glance at Cas who had stopped walking when he did. Barely brushing shoulders they waited until the bunker door fell shut with its usual clang. Dean headed in the direction of the outside entrance to the garage instead, trusting that Cas would follow whether he wanted him to or not. He pulled out his phone when the door closed behind them and used the torch on it to find the main light switch. He quickly realised that being surrounded by cars wasn't the smart idea he'd thought it was, though the smell of oil and metal made him feel instantly more comfortable, as did the fact that Sam only came down here when he needed to take a car, it only drew his eyes to the empty space where Baby was normally parked. He was overcome with worry for her, those bastards could have stolen her, or beaten her to hell, or set her on fire, or  _anything_. It was stupid perhaps to be so worried about the fate of a car when their own lives were on the line, Asmodeus was the kind of dick that held a grudge, plus he already hated their guts  _and_  he knew their stomping grounds. It wasn't a great mix and Dean knew that they were all going to spend the next few days on edge and constantly checking the warding, but still, he worried about Baby.

He shook his head and turned to face Cas, who was watching him warily. Right, dumbass confession, pissed off angel, ruined friendship, he still had that to deal with.

"Go on then, just get it over with." He sighed, gesturing for the angel to begin ranting.

Cas tilted his head and squinted at him.

"Get what over with?"

"All the resentments and anger and crap you wanted to spill. You've got a list of things you hate about me, right? Is it alphabetised? Mine is."

Dean wished he had a beer, or a bottle of whiskey. He was too sober for a talk like this. Fortunately, once they were done here, he could go and get good and drunk and pretend to Sammy that he was celebrating a job well done, so he wouldn't get that judgy bitchface all night.

"Is that really what you think I want to talk about?" Cas asked him, walking forward, popping Dean's personal space bubble as he so often did, though, to be fair to the guy, his personal space bubble had shrunk considerably over the years. Dean held his ground, as much as he wanted to back away and not listen as his best friend started listing his worst qualities he knew that cowardice wouldn't be one of them. He stared Cas down, swallowing hard as those blue eyes glittered with the bright LEDs of the garage. There were flecks of silver in those eyes, like moonlight on a lake, his striped tie was loose around his neck and his coat and shirt were wrinkled and flecked with blood, some of it was probably his.

"Isn't it? Airing the dirty laundry and all that? No regrets, unspoken uncertainty, hey, don't look at me like that, I listen."

"You said you love me."

Dean felt his face heating up again. "Come on, man, don't do this." He hedged.

"What am I doing exactly?" Cas asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Dean. I-"

"I was in a good place with this whole thing. Look, I screwed up, alright? I shouldn't've said anything but just..." He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Cas. His eyes settled on an old sedan with spots of rust on the hubcaps. He should really get around to looking at some of the cars down here that weren't his baby or a ditchable ride. Then, because he was apparently a glutton for punishment, he flicked his eyes over to the angel, and jerked his chin up slightly, half-defiant. "Just don't act like it's nothing for me to say it."

Cas fell silent for a moment, watching him. Those expressive eyebrows were slanting inwards, his mouth slightly open as though he was preparing to speak but still deciding on the words. There was still anger in his eyes, and confusion, and a whole bunch of other things that Dean was too scrambled to try and work out.

"I'm sorry-"

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't've interrupted your annoyances thing and I didn't exactly  _plan_  on saying it, it just sorta-"

"Dean, I do  _not_  want to talk about my petty irritations with you right now," Cas said, taking another deliberate step forward, a hint of a growl in his voice as he advanced, "though your constant misjudgement is certainly one of them. Perhaps I haven't made myself clear; I want to know if you meant it."

Dean let out a bitter laugh.

"Does it matter?"

Cas' jaw tightened, Dean saw the bone shift under his right ear.

"Why do you say that?" Cas asked, was that hurt in his voice, or pity?

Dean swallowed and looked away, taking a half-step back. Okay, so maybe he was a little bit of a coward.

"It doesn't matter because nothing has to change, Cas. And I know I've made some dumbass moves lately, like asking you to stay the night and makin' you keep me company while I cook but that won't happen again. But… I get it, you know? If you can't-" he cleared his throat, "If you're not okay with it, if you don't wanna see me around for a while, I get it. I know you don't want… whatever. And I'm sorry if it means that we can't keep what we got but… no hard feelings, Cas, it was… well, just… thank you. For all of it. And of  _course_  I meant it."

Cas blinked at him slowly, head still tilted, hair mussed and sticking up every which way, looking… well, looking goddamn adorable if he was being totally honest. And he was, he was done pretending, not that it was gonna do much good. He braced himself against the sedan, resting on the fingertips of one hand, the other clasping his own wrist. He gripped slightly harder than was strictly necessary, he could feel his bones shifting under the thin layer of skin, preparing to hear words of disgust, of rejection, or worse, of pity, generic platitudes that had never nor would ever be able to capture what they were, what they had had before Dean shoved his foot in his mouth and destroyed everything that had been so painstakingly built.

"I'm confused." Cas said, taking one final step so that they were almost touching, chest to chest. He must have been able to hear the way Dean's heart ratcheted up by at least three notches and the way he fought to keep breathing as the angel's eyes locked on his, "Are you telling me that you are in love with me, or are you breaking up with me?"

"Errr-" Dean said, witty as always. "Yes?"

Cas huffed and Dean felt the displaced air hit his neck, making goosebumps shoot up all over his body. Dean often thought of Cas as short, purely because seeing him stand next to Sam was comedic at best and he knew that he had an inch or two on him, but it was absurd to think that now, with the angel all up in his space and taking up the whole universe, blotting out the bunker entirely. It was moments like this that Dean could swear he almost glimpsed the angel encased in the vessel.

"You're impossible." Cas said, the faintest of smiles dancing across his lips, "You are the least possible thing to ever happen to me."

"I dunno, Cas, we've seen a lot of crazy."

"For an angel to love is beyond crazy, Dean. It can't happen. I'm not made that way, I  _can't_."

Dean deflated slightly, setting himself more heavily against the car, here it comes, the end of another good thing.

"It seems your impossibility has rubbed off on me." Cas continued, reaching a hand up to trace delicately along Dean's jaw, the pads of his fingers barely brushing his skin. Dean shivered, he would have closed his eyes to savour the touch but he couldn't look away from Cas. "Because, despite the fact that I am not actually capable of love, Dean Winchester, I love you."

All of the air vanished from Dean's lungs and his stomach did an odd sort of somersault as the words bounced on his skull a few times before osmosis-ing into his brain. It wasn't until after he blinked a few times that he realised he'd been standing there for at least twenty seconds and he hadn't said a single damn thing. Cas was staring at him expectantly, a hint of amusement in his features, his hand still half-up as though he were debating making contact again. Dean wished he would.

"You-?" He said, his voice cracking and Cas nodded.

"I do." He said. "I think I have for a very long time, I just didn't know what it was."

"I think I've known for a long time." Dean confessed, "I just didn't let myself think about it, it was safer that way and I didn't think you wanted…" he trailed off and shrugged as nonchalantly as he was able.

Cas looked at him a moment, then, as slowly and gently as one would approach a cornered gazelle, he leaned up without breaking eye contact and pressed his lips to Dean's.

Dean's heart stuttered and may have stopped entirely, the only things he was sure of were the warmth blooming in his chest, the pressure on his mouth and the gentle humming of grace beneath it. Turns out, kissing Cas felt like life itself, he swore he could smell the tang of the ocean, he could hear birdsong, he could taste infinity on Cas' slightly chapped lips; every moment they had ever shared and every one they had wasted, dodging around each other, too afraid to make it real. But damn, was it real now.

Dean's fingers tangled in Cas' hair, pulling him closer as Cas crowded him backwards so he was held up between the rusting sedan and Cas' body, Dean let out a breathy gasp as he was pinned, his own legs had turned to Jell-O and were doing absolutely nothing useful. Their mouths moved together, exploring the different textures that each new angle revealed and savouring every one of them. Their breath mingled and once, Dean could have sworn he felt the murmur of his own name in the vibrations of the air as Cas pressed his body flush. One of Cas' hands cradled the back of his neck, the other rested on his hip, stroking softness into the skin with his thumb under the fabric of his shirt. The hand not in Cas' hair slid up the angel's back to grab a handful of that dumbass coat. The one that was as much a part of Cas now as that lopsided grin, or the smell of woodsmoke.

After an eternity experienced in a blink, they broke apart, panting heavily. Dean pulled just far enough away to meet Cas' eyes, just to confirm to himself that he hadn't imagined the love there, before he pulled Cas back in to bury his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling that familiar scent, feeling Cas' stubble scratch against his temple, quiet tears leaking from his eyes and dripping onto Cas' collar. His breath moistened the skin of Cas' neck and he tasted salt, his shoulders still shaking from the lingering power of that kiss.

Cas held him for a few moments, the pulse of his grace slowly regaining its usual calm rhythm under Dean's cheek.

"Now why on earth," He muttered quietly, stroking lazy circles on the back of the hunter's neck with one hand, "would I  _not_  want to experience that every day for the rest of my life?"

Dean chuckled into Cas' neck, then, after taking another hit of that smell he stepped back.

"Can't imagine." He said. "But the night I asked you to stay-"

"I told you I wanted you to be  _sure_ , Dean." Cas said, moving the hand from his waist to cup his cheek. Dean closed his eyes and chased the touch, practically nuzzling the angel's hand. "You were vulnerable and hurting and I didn't want to put you in a position that you would regret later." His eyes darted away then and his cheeks tinged a delicate pink, nothing like the mess of blotched tomato that Dean's face probably was right now, how could the angel look so perfect? Sex-hair and kiss-swollen lips and he still looked as composed as ever, they could be sat around the table in the war room, discussing their next move. "Or that _I_  would."

Dean opened his eyes then, his head stilling in Cas' palm.

"You weren't sure either?" He asked.

Cas' hand fell away from his face, leaving a cold space behind, toying with the top button of his shirt instead, his gaze focused in on the action.

"No, I was sure." Cas said, "But I was sure of the fact that the single night you asked for wouldn't be nearly enough for me. I didn't want to indulge in a night with you, knowing that it would be the only one I would get. Sometimes it's better not to know what you're missing and it turns out that I have been missing you since the first time I saw your soul."

The hand on the back of Dean's neck pushed gently, causing Dean's head to bend forwards until their foreheads touched.

"I see you, Dean. And you are so beautiful."

"Cas." Dean breathed. All of his gratitude entwined in the name of the angel before him, "Castiel."

They stayed there for an indeterminate amount of time, just holding each other, allowing all of their years of fear, awkwardness and unspoken affection and concern to melt into it.

Eventually, as one, they let their hands fall and they stepped away. Dean felt like he'd been purged, almost hollowed out, but he had never felt so full. He smiled and reached out hesitantly to take Cas' hand in his own, twining their fingers together and holding tight. Then he pulled Cas from the garage and up the step into the bunker proper. It felt strange, holding Cas' hand. His own palm was slick with sweat and nerves tightened in his gut. He felt like a teenager on a first date, like he wasn't quite sure what the boundaries were yet, how much he was allowed to show. It was ridiculous, considering he and Cas had already seen the very worst of each other, but this was brand new territory for him, for both of them, and they still had a lot to work out. Dean, for one, couldn't wait to learn. He dragged Cas to the kitchen, where he figured Sam would be waiting for them and lo and behold his brother was leaning against the metal island, beer in hand, two more bottles ready. Cas tugged him back a moment and gave him a questioning look.  _Are you sure?_  Dean smiled and squeezed his hand, stepping into the kitchen, even as his gut twisted in knots.

"Are you two done fighting? Can we actually celebrate now?" Sam said sarcastically, lowering his bottle and turning to look at the two of them. Dean said nothing, waiting for Sam's eyes to drop to where his hand was joined to the angel's. It took him a few seconds, perhaps they'd been in the garage longer than he'd thought if Sam had had more than one beer, but when Sam noticed, his eyes widened and his head shot up to stare at Dean, shock in his every pore.

"You-?" He asked, flicking his finger between him and Cas.

Dean nodded, holding his breath. He wasn't sure what he expected, awkwardness maybe, probing questions, bafflement. What he wasn't prepared for was the anger he saw in Sam's face. Dean actually took a step back with the force of it.

" _Seriously?_ " He said, running a hand through his hair and scoffing derisively. "Man, how could I get you so wrong?"

"Sammy-"

" _Two_  days, Dean,  _two_. You couldn't've held out for that long?"

"I- err." Dean stammered as the foundation of his world began to crumble.

"Sam." Cas said, taking a half-step forward and angling himself in front of Dean protectively. "After everything that we have been through together, I wouldn't have expected this of you. I have to say, I'm disappointed."

" _You're_  disappointed?" Sam shot back, pulling out his phone. "I now owe Claire five hundred bucks."

There was a beat where Cas looked to Dean for clarification, who had none.

"Excuse me?"

Sam sighed and tipped his head back. "I bet Claire that you two would get your heads out of your asses after six months of you being back, Claire bet three.  _Two days_  away from the halfway point and of course it just so happens that we're all hopped up on the adrenaline of a successful mission. Man, she is  _never_  letting me live this down."

Dean stared at his brother like he'd lost his mind and swallowed hard. "So, uh…" He said, "Do you have a problem with this or…?"

He braced himself for the worst, he didn't know what he would do if Sam was vehemently against whatever it was that Dean and Cas were now. He'd never wanted to choose between his brother and the angel he loved, it was part of the reason he'd never let himself admit how important Cas was to him. Like what John had said, now, faced with the choice, he'd actually hesitate.

"What?" Sam said distractedly after thumbing out a message on his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. When he looked up and saw whatever terrified expression was on Dean's face, his eyes widened and he rushed forward, plunking his empty beer bottle back onto the island and taking Dean's shoulders in his hands. "Oh,  _God_  no! Dean, I'm so sorry if you thought- that never even occurred to me. Look, I've seen the way that you two look at each other, the way you act around each other, the way you  _care_  about each other. He loves you and he makes you happy. How could I possibly have a problem with that? Come here." Sam pulled him into a hug and Dean let go of Cas' hand to return it properly.

"I'm so proud of you, Dean." Sam muttered quietly, just for him, though he knew Cas would only be pretending not to be able to hear. "I know it's been a long road."

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean mumbled. It meant a lot, a hell of a lot, more than he could even express that nothing was going to change between him and his brother.

When Dean pulled back, Sam tugged Cas in for a hug too.

"You deserve to be happy too, okay?" He said, "Don't let Dean push you around too much."

"Hey!"

"And don't  _you_  don't act like you're too cool for the mushy stuff. We all know how much you love chick-flicks, dude."

Dean blushed, "Alright, that's enough relationship advice from you. Hand me that beer."

Sam laughed and passed it over, handing the other to Cas and getting a third out for himself. They all took their seats at the table, Dean and Cas' knees bumping together companionably. After a few seconds, Cas' phone pinged with a text. He pulled it out, confused, pretty much the only two people who text him were in the room. Then his face softened as he looked at the screen. He showed it to Dean who leaned over to read it properly, it was from Claire.

_Nice 1 nerds. About time._

And a few dollar emojis. Dean snorted.

"She is somethin' else." He said, chuckling. Cas agreed, typing out a reply that was probably loaded with emojis of his own before tucking his phone away.

Seeing as Dean had used up the last of the fresh ingredients for the soup and none of them thought it would be a good idea to go for a proper grocery run for a few days in case Asmodeus was gonna come for them, they debated between ordering pizza or making do with the seemingly endless dried and canned foods in the pantry that the Men of Letters had kept stocked. Despite the bunker being a permanent home for them for several years now, and the fact that they dipped into that store more often than they probably should, they had barely made the tiniest dent in the sheer amount of food.

In the end, Dean whipped up a fried rice dish with canned vegetables and a sauce packet he found in the cupboard. Cas had argued that any delivery person could be possessed and didn't think it was worth the risk, and seeing as Dean's counter argument was 'gooey cheese', he lost that one. It wasn't bad either, Dean thought as he and Sam dug in, though it had nothing on the soup. Cas seemed less interested in tasting this one but Dean resolved that one day, he was gonna make Cas a proper, non-processed-to-hell burger and watch as he ate it. Or at least give him a bite of his, depending on how long Cas was able to activate his tastebuds for.

"I have a question, Sam." Cas said at one point after Sam had cleared away and washed the dishes, leaving them on the side to put away later. "Were you really going to take five hundred dollars off a young hunter who has no source of income besides hustling pool?"

Sam barked a laugh and came to sit back at the table, bringing fresh beers for all of them, Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, curious. It wasn't like his brother to get pissy about money.

"Nah," Sam said, grinning, "If I won, she was gonna have to do all of Jody's chores for the month."

"You bet that against five hundred dollars?" Dean said. "Man, that's weak."

Sam shrugged, "Hey, Jody can use all the help she can get." He said, "Alex, Claire and Patience have got to be a handful, especially with Claire picking up cases on her own. The money will come in handy. Plus, you know... the personal satisfaction of being right."

"Do we even  _have_  five hundred dollars?" Dean asked.

"Err… no but," Sam pulled out his wallet and checked his card. "Albert P. Robins does."

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled, popping open his beer.

"May she use it well."

They clinked bottles and stayed up talking until Dean's eyes began to itch with tiredness.

"Well," He said, standing, "I for one am ready to call it a night. Or morning, whatever. Night, Sam."

"Night." Sam said with a nod.

Dean made it to the hallway before he paused, frowning. Then he walked the few steps back to hover in the kitchen doorway. Sam was staring at Cas across the table, his eyebrows in his hair. Cas was frowning back, looking uncomfortable.

"Did you forget something?" Cas asked him. Dean stammered out a few nonsensical syllables before Sam took pity on the angel and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Go with him, dumbass." He said.

"Oh," Cas said, jumping up with awkward, jerky movements. "Right. Um… goodnight, Sam."

Sam's laughter followed them out.

Dean shook his head and pressed his lips together. Now that the heat and the emotional high of the garage had worn off, Dean was feeling decidedly less brave. Their hands bumped together as they walked but neither of them tried to take hold.

"Am I expected to stay in your room now?" Cas asked suddenly.

Dean winced, though the words were no less tense than the silence that preceded them.

"No, Cas, you're not  _expected_  to do anything you don't want. I get that you've got your own room and your own nightly routine or whatever, but you are  _welcome_."

The inflection at the end made it sound like a question, made only more humiliating when they stopped outside Dean's door.

"Why does this feel so strange?" Cas asked him. "We have both experienced things that ordinary people can't even comprehend, and this, one,  _human_  thing, neither of us seem to know how to act. Even after we kissed. Shouldn't we know what to do next?"

"You've been watching too many movies." Dean said, studiously ignoring the fact that most movies Cas had watched had been recommendation of his. "That kiss was… epic, but it doesn't automatically fix everything. This is the part after the movie when the audience has gone home and we still need to figure out how to make this work. We've both got stuff. I'm all kinds of screwed up and you've got your own issues and none of that is the sexy stuff they show on screen, plus we've still got the world to save. It isn't gonna be easy, Cas. I can't promise you easy. But I can promise you that I'm gonna try. And if it's too much, if at any point, you want out, you don't even need a reason, all you gotta do is say so. And you're still my best friend, that doesn't change."

"Good." Cas said, smiling. "I am looking forward to figuring things out with you."

Dean flushed.

"Good." He echoed, reaching for the door handle.

"I think I will stay with you tonight, if you're amenable."

"Oh, I'm amenable." Dean said, throwing on the flirty smile that he knew Cas could see right through, "I'm all kinds of amenable."

Cas chuckled behind him as Dean opened the door and walked in. Shucking off his jacket and tossing it into the laundry basket. Apparently, Cas had mojoed his clothes clean of bloodstains along with the healing. Awesome, he liked this shirt. He paused as he started to undo the top button and turned back to Cas, who was watching him curiously. Dean figured his biggest failure was communication. And if he wanted to start this thing off right, he had to start by setting up good habits.

"I- err… I don't know if I should undress in front of you or not." He said, feeling foolish.

Cas tilted his head and waited.

"Look, okay, so this is gonna be awkward but I've gotta ask. You know I said that thing about consent the other day? And before, how you're not expected to do anything you don't wanna do? Those things are true, always, and if… if sex isn't a thing that you wanna do, then that's fine. It doesn't change how I feel about you. But I don't wanna overstep, so, I guess I'm asking what your boundaries are?"

He stopped himself there before he began babbling, it was hard to hold Cas' eye, but he did. And then, suddenly, Cas was a lot closer.

"I would like to experience sex with you, Dean." He said, his voice low and heated and sending a shiver down Dean's spine, "I would like to experience  _everything_  with you. But right now, I really,  _really_  want to kiss you again."

"Awesome." Dean breathed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a movement that Cas caught. It was Dean who closed the gap this time, one arm slipping around Cas' waist, pulling him in as he leaned forward to capture Cas' lips, the other coming up to stroke his cheek. Cas moaned into the kiss and the sound shorted something in Dean's brain. Cas' hands scrabbled at his chest, popping free the first button and then the second until he was pushing the fabric off his shoulders. Dean let go briefly to let the shirt fall to the floor and then his own hands changed tactic; first the coat, then the button down, then, after a moment's hesitation, the tie, the clothing pooled at their feet as their lips and tongues slid against each other. Dean made a noise that was not unlike a whimper as Cas pushed the t-shirt over his head and explored his chest and back, the calloused fingers leaving trails of heat on his skin that tingled with lingering grace.

"Dean."

And there was that music again, infused with his name, mingling with the smell of woodsmoke. Dean's lips left Cas' and he began to press soft kisses into the angel's neck. Revelling in the way that Cas' breathing became more laboured, and little gasps and moans accompanied certain spots, he filed away that information for later, tonight was about learning. Cas' hands gripped his hair as he tasted and tested. He loved the way Cas tugged at the short strands. He walked them backwards until the backs of Cas' knees hit the bed. Then, there was a break as they both sat down to kick off their shoes, during which they met each other's eyes and began to giggle.

"Is this one of those 'non-sexy' bits?" Cas asked as he pulled off his left sock.

"Hey, at least your feet don't smell." Dean teased. "I've been sweating in these boots all damn day."

"Charming."

Dean waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm here all night."

"I would hope so."

"Pants too? While we're here."

Cas let out a long-suffering sigh, "I suppose," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "while we're here."

Dean grinned and undid his belt, pulling it from the loops and dropping it onto the pile of clothes. Then he stood to undo his pants and shimmied them off too. Cas did the same next to him.

"And these?" He asked innocently, plucking at the waistband of his boxers as he stepped out of his trousers. "What should I do with these?"

Dean's mouth went dry, his heart thudding like a manic toddler on a drum set. Cas was here, standing in his room, mostly naked, looking at him with love and mischief in his eyes. Dean took a moment to take it all in. He could have this, he thought suddenly. This moment was his and he could enjoy it; but better than that, so much better, he could share it.

"Oh, don't you worry." Dean said, walking forward and dipping his thumbs into the groove of Cas' hipbones, watching as Cas' pupils dilated with lust. "I'll take care of those."

 

***

 

A little while later, Dean's head rested on Cas' chest while the angel hummed something he couldn't name and stroked circles on his bicep. Dean traced the contours of his lover's torso with his fingers, dancing over the ridges of the ribs that he could feel if he applied a little pressure. Cas might be all muscle and angelic wrath but he was too skinny by far, that's what happened when you didn't need to eat.

Dean's entire being thrummed with joy, ebbing and flowing with the grace that permeated Cas' body. He still couldn't wrap his head around it, that Cas wanted him like this, even knowing about Alastair, about Hell, about his time as a demon,  _everything_. But he did, and that was gonna take some getting used to. He already felt like he was half in a dream. But no, because he knew what delusion blending into reality felt like, and it wasn't warm and comfortable and happy.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said suddenly, remembering a question from what felt like months ago, "what do my ribs say?"

He raised his head to look over at him. The humming stopped and Cas looked back at him with a shy smile.

"They say several things." He said demurely.

"Aww come on." Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows, raising his head from Cas' chest, but making sure his arms pressed into the angel's side. So he liked to touch, sue him. "Tell me."

"You might laugh."

"Probably."

Cas rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky I like it when you laugh."

Dean huffed.

"You seemed to like it when I was screaming too."

Cas chuckled deeply, his whole body vibrating with it. His smile was wide and gummy and gorgeous and Dean was having a hard time not leaning up to kiss him.

"That was… certainly thrilling." Cas said. "I didn't know you would be so loud."

Dean flushed, embarrassed but Cas' hand was there, stroking his cheek.

"It was wonderful," He said, perfectly serious again, "to know that I could cause you pleasure like that, to watch you let go of your reservations, even if only for a few moments. You love so deeply, Dean, that sometimes that love can't find its way up to the surface. It was beautiful to see, the most amazing miracle."

"You weren't so bad yourself." Dean said gruffly. "I love you."

Cas' face lit up, like it had done every time Dean had uttered those words to him. Dean couldn't get enough of that expression, so much so that it was actually getting easier for him to say the words. But he resolved never to say them without feeling it, that warm rush of affection that eclipsed everything but his love for the angel. He wouldn't let those words turn hollow, they were too important.

"And I love you." Cas responded, and Dean felt himself grin too. Damn, he was already turning into a sap. "Now, sit up, let me read your ribs."

"You don't remember what they say?"

"I do." Cas said, "But I like to see them."

"Kinky."

Cas laughed and shifted so that he was leaning back against the headboard. Dean grumbled a little but sat up, baring his torso for Cas' scrutiny. He only felt a little weird doing so, which he guessed was progress. Cas raised a hand and passed it over Dean's ribs, lingering on a red mark that he had left there only a few minutes before. Dean shivered as a thin layer of grace reacted to the contact. Cas' eyes creased with concentration and he laid one finger at what, presumably, was the start of the writing.

"I have prepared this soul for much glory," He read, "and will spill the blood of his enemies. This most exquisite work of man is to be treasured and praises sung of his name. If you seek to divide, no dwelling shall hide thee. If you seek to upset this balance you will be purged with the fire of Heaven and torn apart as unto sharp sickles. And all of your creation and thy contents shall turn rotten."

"Sharp sickles?" Dean asked in a brief pause, raising an eyebrow.

"The bond was fresh." Cas said, shrugging, "I was protective."

"Right."

Cas smiled and trailed his finger up to the top of the left hand side of Dean's chest, seemingly done with the right. Apparently, Cas had carved the letters to be read as one looked at him from the front.

"The face of this soul is known to all, and the wrath of this servient angel of fire will be terrible to behold. He liveth because our Lord and Master hath made it so, and he is bonded to the warrior Castiel, who is his. And you shall tremble and bow before the will of your God."

Cas let his hand drop. Dean sat there on his knees, processing the words.

"A little heavy-handed at the end there, don'tcha think?"

"Perhaps a little."

"An 'exquisite work of man' huh?"

Cas blushed. "I barely knew you then." He said, "I had no idea how true it was."

"Dork." Dean said, leaning over to kiss him again. It was languid and lazy but no less electrifying for it. Dean wondered if that feeling would ever fade. He hoped not.

"I thought they were supposed to hide us from angels anyway." Dean said after a few moments, flopping back down onto the bed, "Not warn them that you're gonna beat them up."

"Some of the runes do both." Cas said, "But there are more protective and concealing ones on your sternum, though those don't really translate into any human language."

"So what's Sam got? The same?"

"He has the same protection and a similar warning, though the phrasing is less..."

"Ridiculous?"

"Specific." Cas finished with a hard look.

Dean snickered, then yawned, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to cover it; he'd completely forgotten his own exhaustion in the whirlwind of emotions since leaving the kitchen, but as tired as he was, in all the good ways, he didn't want to sleep yet. A small part of him, though not so small as he would like, was convinced that if he fell asleep then the past few hours would turn out to be a fever dream and he'd still be bleeding out on the cold concrete floor of a warehouse in Kentucky.

Unfortunately, though unsurprisingly, Cas noticed the yawn and pulled Dean up so that he could lie down properly, shifting the pillow over. Dean made an indignant sound at the manhandling but didn't struggle. He wasn't in his twenties anymore and sleepless nights took more out of him than they used to.

"You don't gotta tuck me in, Cas." He grumbled.

Cas just hummed and pulled up the duvet before pressing a kiss into Dean's shoulder which, yes, made him go all gooey inside.

"Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?" He asked, blinking down at Dean with those impassive eyes.

"Shut up." Dean snorted, pushing the angel lightly before turning over, smashing his head against the pillow to mould it into a more comfortable shape.

It wasn't until he realised that he had his back to Cas that the fear started to set in. Would Cas think he wanted him to leave? Did he think his turning away was an indication that he was pissed, or wanted to be alone? Would Cas leave anyway because he knew he was gonna get bored sitting on a bed for five or so hours with nothing to distract him but Dean's snoring? Because he did that now, got bored. Dean wrestled down the panic. So what if he went off to do his own thing? That was good, right? He couldn't expect him to want to spend every second of the goddamn day with him. Cas had a lot of downtime while the humans slept, He'd once told him that he enjoyed that time when he had the bunker to himself without having to worry about the safety of the brothers. It wouldn't be fair for Dean to ask him to give that up. So he wouldn't ask Cas to stay. He wouldn't.

The bed shifted as Cas moved and Dean was so busy preparing to hear the rustle of clothes and the click of his bedroom door that he almost flinched when the angel smoothed himself against Dean's back, knees bent behind his, arms encircling him, warm and stable and  _there_. Dean shuffled back against him, trying to feel as much of Cas as he could. Cas' lips touched down on Dean's left shoulder, where his mark had once been, and they stayed there for a long moment. Dean gasped at the sensation.

"What is that?" He breathed, tipping his head back as his shoulder tingled with pleasure, almost erotic, pulsing and sweet.

Cas' lips left his skin and the feeling ebbed away.

"Our bond." Cas answered. "Reacting to the way my grace and your soul connect. We forged something new tonight, Dean; something beautiful and strong and precious. It was always there, just… raw and without form." He sighed against Dean's skin, sending a flicker of power through his shoulder. "These kinds of connections were only myth, even in my lifespan I never heard of one being real. It wasn't possible, a horror story for angels who thought too much about humans, for those angels who bonded them. But it doesn't actually do much. It's just a feeling, a concept that once, was terrifying to me, but now… it's just another experience I get to share with you."

He kissed Dean's shoulder once more before lying down properly, still hugging him close, his breath tickling the back of Dean's neck.

"Sleep." He said, his voice a calm timbre amid Dean's swirling thoughts. "I'll watch over you."

Dean closed his eyes and settled into Cas' hold. A feeling was swelling inside him, pushing at his throat, leaking from his eyes, relaxing his muscles as sleep began to tug insistently. But he shook it off, just a little longer.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"You were wrong. On my ribs."

Cas sighed, "I lied about being the angel of fire. That's Jehoel. He was one of Uriel's followers, he died in the Fall. Though Michael is often associated with fire too. 'This angel of Thursday' wouldn't have quite had the same impact."

"I meant the part about you being mine."

Cas stilled and Dean could sense the confusion.

"Dean, I've always been yours."

"No." Dean insisted, twisting in the angel's arms so he faced him, bringing his hands up to cup Cas' face. "You don't belong to me, Cas. You don't belong to anyone, that's what freedom is. We don't belong to each other. What we got isn't holding each other's leash. What we got is finding belonging  _with_  each other and choosing to hold on."

Cas' smile was slow and bright, even in the dark room. "You are very wise." He said, kissing him on the forehead. "And very tired. Sleep, not-my-hunter. Your worries are for tomorrow."

Dean huffed, pressing himself closer to not-his-angel, slinging an arm over his waist and holding on tight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done.
> 
> I can't believe it's actually done!
> 
> Once again, thank you all, your amazing support and feedback has kept me going through all the twists, turns and blocks. I really couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> So... *wrings hands tentatively* what do you think? Do you like the ending? I'm telling you now, THAT scene was SO close to becoming outright smut, which would have been my first attempt, but I kinda really like the break where it is. Do you? Your opinions matter and I wanna hear 'em all. The good, the bad and the weird.
> 
> I found, [a partial translation](https://supernatural-tv.livejournal.com/1991062.html) of Dean's ribs and used artistic license for the rest, so credit to bloggingchick for inspiration for the wording.
> 
> And hey, feel free to drop by to visit me on [tumblr](http://tibbinswrites.tumblr.com/) if you want.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


End file.
